Odyssey
by DrunkenGrognard
Summary: As an interdimensional war heats up, new factions emerge on the stage - what consequences will their actions have? Whose side are they on? And do they understand the forces involved? Part three of the Grand Tour series.
1. Prologue

_Disclaimer: As always, I own none of the various works, worlds, and 'verses this tale shall wander through. I make no claim upon these characters. And I'm still way too poor to be worth suing. This is intended as entertainment and tribute._

Prologue

Odo looked upon the gathered Maquis with a dour expression.

Oh, he knew they were 'ex' Maquis, and that they'd spent the last several years as part of a Starfleet crew on _Voyager._ But they were quite up-front and unapologetic about their roots in the quasi-terrorist group. There presence on the Promenade had brought a plurality of the station's ex-Bajoran Resistance types out of the woodwork, flooding Quark's and other, similar establishments with (so far) happy drunken people talking about the good old days against the Cardassians. Elim Garak, newly returned, had closed up early when he'd seen the crowd begin to gather, hoping to avoid tempting fate.

So far the gathering was loud but peaceful. Odo didn't expect it to last. These sort of gatherings never stayed peaceful. This many Maquis and Resistance types together being boisterous... Odo suspected he was going to be filling the holding cells tonight with drunk and disorderlies. He had extra security in place, ready to move in quickly if the party got out of hand. He hoped he wouldn't need them. Several of the _Voyager_ people present were officers, and a number of cell-leaders from the Resistance had popped up as well. In theory, they could keep things from getting out of hand.

The Resistance leaders would have some incentive. They knew how... _irritated_... Odo could get about such things. He had little hope that the Starfleet ones would care, however. He'd met _Voyager_'s security chief, and while he was sure the Vulcan was a fine tactician, he was far more spy than peace officer.

The gathering had drifted from the bars, now, and was moving towards the temporary shrines of the Gratitude Festival. Odo could already hear the complaints of the monks, not doubting for a moment that he'd have many official complaints to deal with in the morning. Had he a need to breath, he would probably be suppressing a sigh right about now.

Oh yes, tonight was bound to be _interesting._

_

* * *

_

Gul Dukat felt as if he was floating. The power and will of the Pah Wraiths filled him; their song resonating in his soul. Their joy fairly burned within him. He was near to his objective, close to his goal. Perhaps better to say – close to _their_ goal, but at the moment the distinction seemed... unimportant.

Even if he was little more than a passenger within his own body right now, he was still pleased with the situation. It was not every day a man got to participate in an attack on the gods.

* * *

Commander Chakotay's nerves were starting to play up, but he forced them to stay dormant. It was too close to showtime for him to get distracted.

The information about exactly _what_ was about to happen was damnably vague, but they had the gist of it from records Starfleet had sent to _Voyager._ Tonight, in the next hour or so, Gul Dukat was going to show up on the station and attack the Gratitude Festival. He'd kill a few people in the process, among them Jadzia Dax, and do something to an Orb that destabilized the Wormhole.

Since it was Dukat who convinced the Dominion to all but wipe out his Maquis brethren, a chance to get his hands on the spoon-headded bastard was a gift from the Spirits themselves. The fact that they'd be able to save a few more lives in the process, and that circumstances could even give them an alibi when the inevitable investigation went down, was fine icing on an already delicious cake. He'd heard the old proverb – attributed to everyone from Shakespeare to some nameless Klingon philosopher – that revenge was a dish best served cold. There was some merit to that, but he doubted this was was going to be a cold revenge.

Say what you would about Odo; the Changeling knew his stuff. Some discrete checking of the Customs setup had convinced him that trying to sneak some weapons onto the Promenade wouldn't work very well, so his people were all but unarmed. He hadn't been so gauche as to ask, but he suspected most of the assembled Resistance types and Maquis sympathizers who made up their crowd were unarmed as well.

But they had a lot of bodies. And those selfsame bodies had Odo and his constables alert and out in force. He wasn't worried about any problems from that – enough of Deep Space Nine's security force was Bajoran that they wouldn't intervene unless his bunch started rioting.

Or if, say, a prominent Cardassian official showed his scaley mug.

He was looking forward to that, just as he worried about the various ways this could go wrong. For one; they needed to get to the Orb before Dukat showed up. They also needed to keep reasonably well behaved until then – the synthahol had started to flow early in the night and the group was getting rather... boisterous. And – nagging at the back of his mind – the information they had on the incident was rather sparse. There was nothing about how Dukat had accomplished his attack, simply that he had.

Still, unless the bastard had something utterly unprecedented up his sleeve, a little mob violence and (since a good chunk of station security were Bajoran, with their own host of reasons to hate him) police brutality would more than even things up.

* * *

Seven of Nine wasn't entirely sure how, or indeed, _why_ she'd let herself get roped into this.

Oh, she too had taken the time to review their records and knew what was going to happen; knew that Jadzia Dax was 'destined' to die this night at the hands of Gul Dukat. She could even understand why her shipmates would consider this to be a sub-par outcome. And while she did not exactly follow the logic chain that they 'owed' Commander Worf for his assistance while he was on board, she could accept that this was an aspect of human behavior she still did not yet understand. There were an annoyingly great number of those.

But none of that explained why she'd agreed to help with what she could only term as a 'zany scheme' to save Dax's life without being caught doing so.

The three who had come to her with the plan – Torres, Paris, and Kim – were each unable to enact it. Torres' presence was expected at a party the Maquis were hosting, which was, apparently, also part of the plan. Paris and Kim had Bridge Watch this shift, and as a large part of their scheme – the 'getting away with it' part – depended on plausible deniability, they could not swap shifts or otherwise conspire to get out of bridge duty. The effort to do so could be construed as evidence of a plan. This, the others assured her, would be a Bad Thing. Given the reputation of Temporal Investigations, Seven could hardly deny that.

She still wasn't certain why she had let herself be swayed by their arguments, but she had. She was currently carrying several datapads, laden with years worth of Delta Quadrant surveys and assorted sensor logs of the final, universe-hopping leg of their trip home. It was all data that had been transmitted to the Federation Science Council already, but nothing in their orders prevented them from specifically sharing it with Deep Space Nine as well, and Lieutenant Dax _had_ reportedly mentioned curiosity about it. In theory, it would serve as an adequate distraction to keep the Trill away from the Promenade for the duration of the evening.

The science lab opened at her approach, as Lieutenant Dax left it. The Trill blinked, seeming to be surprised by her presence. "Good evening, Lieutenant," said Seven, "I believe you requested some data from us?" she held out the Padd on top of the pile.

Dax took it, smiling. "I did. Thank you, I'd expected to wait for the Science Council to forward me a copy."

This felt like a good moment for a colloquialism. "As the saying goes, I was in the neighborhood."

Dax chuckled as she flipped through the files. She looked up, gaze focusing for a moment on Seven's ocular implant and then, like virtually everyone else, immediately glancing away. "I guess this is your first time on the station, isn't it?"

The former Borg blinked. "Yes."

Dax nodded. "I can't say I blame you for waiting 'till now. About the only thing Benjamin hates more than Maquis are..." she cut herself off, looking slightly awkward. The rest of the sentence hung unsaid but well heard.

"I... understand. That... was not the entire reason, but it was a factor."

The Trill smiled. "Well, since you're here, would you like the ten-credit tour?"

That was _not_ part of the plan. "I had thought to offer to assist you in cataloging and analyzing the data." This was not ideal; the science lab would be safe and thus the best place for Lieutenant Dax to spend the evening.

Dax made a dismissive gesture. "I'll have plenty of time for that later. Right now, I want to head down to the Promenade and make a little offering at the Gratitude Festival, but I'll be happy to show you the scenic route."

This was _not_ in the parameters of her plan. The attack had taken place at the Gratitude Festival, and avoiding it was a priority. Seven's mind raced. "I was unaware that you subscribed to Bajoran religious beliefs."

Dax shrugged and started walking. Seven fell in behind her. "I don't, really, but it can't hurt. Besides, you got home through the Wormhole, and we know that's where the Prophets live."

Any drastic action would violate the 'plausible deniability' portion of the plan. Seven quickly decided that her best bet would be to stay close to the Trill, in the hopes that she could protect her. "A... valid, if unusual interpretation."

Dax laughed. "Even us science types can give the spiritual realm a polite nod now and then."

* * *

The Pah Wraith's song surging within him, Gul Dukat walked onto the Promenade, turning towards the little shrine. Their fire filled him so much that he didn't consciously hear the first shouts. Even when they continued, enraged Bajoran profanities coming at him from all directions, they didn't really register as important.

The first bottle shattering against the side of his head registered, however. Slightly lethargic, he had only partially turned towards the source of the impact when two big Bajorans tackled him to the deck. At that point, everything became a confusing mass of impacts as fists and boots descended.

"The deck!" someone shouted, "He wants to taste the deck!"

The song and power of the Pah Wraiths left him in a rush that threw back the nearest Bajorans. He felt empty, drained, unable to move. More Bajorans rushed towards him. _Oh_. _This is probably going to hurt,_ he thought, trying to brace himself for another booted onslaught.

It didn't help much.

Suddenly a familiar voice cut through the shouts. "That's enough! Back away everyone!" Odo. The smooth-faced Changeling cowed the pack of Bajorans, and, now that he looked, some Starfleet personnel too, and they gave him room. The Changeling turned towards him. "Gul Dukat. As an enemy combatant in time of war, I'll be placing you under arrest."

It took a moment for him to get his jaw working. "Understandable, Constable." Two Station Security men levered him roughly to his feet. Both were Bajoran, and neither seemed happy that he wasn't getting further pummeled. If he wasn't certain that smiling would make his face hurt even more – one eye was swelling shut already – the Cardassian would have grinned. Odo wouldn't let his people engage in any kind of brutality to a prisoner. Even when he'd run Terok Nor himself, the Changeling was adamant about such things. But where he had simply taken prisoners out of the lockup and into military custody, he rather doubted that Sisko would. A holding cell would be much less dangerous than just about anywhere else on the station right about now.

Now, if he could just figure out what he'd been thinking to come here of all places... his memory of the last week or so was sketchy, to say the least.

* * *

"I ought to throw you in the brig, Commander." Janeway sighed as she massaged her temples. "We've gone _very_ far out of our way to _avoid_ trouble with Temporal Investigations, and then you go and do this?"

Chakotay kept his face very straight. "We have a perfectly adequate cover story in place, Captain, and they don't have a way to prove that we knew anything about the events on DS9 last night ahead of time. We've properly purged our database of any future knowledge." He shrugged. "We knew Temporal Investigations was going to come after us anyway. I don't think they'll be able to do anything to us."

Janeway sighed again, took a deep drink of her black coffee. "I just hope you're right, Commander."

Chakotay smiled. "The worst thing they can do is throw me in prison for a few years. Isn't that what you were planning to do to me, when you came for Tuvok way back when this mess started?"

Janeway startled herself with a laugh. "Okay, I'll give you that one." She frowned again. "Still, try not to do anything _else_ to give Temporal Investigations a justification to make our lives miserable."

"If you insist."


	2. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer: This is a tribute. I'm making a note here, nothing claimed. It's hard to overstate how little I'm worth suing._

_Author's note: no sooner did I start this than my boss called to tell me I'd have to work through my next couple weekends. I'm going to try to keep up the story, but I may miss an update due to overwork. Sorry._

Chapter 1

The Imperial Star Destroyer _Chimaera _sat in orbit of a nameless world.

She was preparing to rendevous with the _Judicator_, still recovering from the damage she'd received raiding Nomad City in the Athega system to take on her stolen cargo. The Star Destroyer, her armor half melted and sensors burned blind, limped slowly and hesitantly to her orbit, two of her shuttles flying point and taking the place of her ruined eyes.

On _Chimaera_'s bridge, Captain Gilead Pellaeon looked at _Judicator_ and shuddered. No New Republic capital ship caused that; no weapon designed by man or alien. Just the hard, uncaring glare of a mighty star. The thought occurred that perhaps they would _never _be so powerful that nature could not crush them. The thought was not pleasant.

Still, they had succeeded in their mission. Pellaeon still wasn't totally sure what the Grand Admiral was planning, or even if all the pieces were in place yet. Once they were, he would probably be able to puzzle it out. Possibly even before the plan unfolded in front of him.

He listened with half an ear as _Chimaera_'s comm officer conferred with his counterpart on _Judicator._ She was the latest ship to arrive, one of a half-dozen thus far. More Star Destroyers were coming soon; as they prepared for their attack on Sulius Van.

They were putting together an impressive weight of metal for the strike; a stronger order of battle than the Imperial Starfleet had thrown into any one battle in quite a while, save some of the fleets tasked with bringing down Warlord Zsinj. Of course, a fleet that actually intended to go after a Super Star Destroyer, much less _two_ of them, had to be big.

Still, this was going to look a lot more like a conquest than a raid. It was probably just as well; based on the intel he'd managed to look at, there were probably going to be upwards of forty Mon Calamari Star Cruisers present, and skeleton crews or not, those ships could be all manner of trouble. To say nothing of the fixed defenses and assorted escort ships.

Finally, _Judicator_ took her place in the fleet's holding formation. She was close enough to _Chimaera_ that Pellaeon could actually see some of the damage to her hull, and he winced in sympathy. _I should talk with the chief engineer – see if we can spare some repair crews._

He continued to walk along the edge of the crew pit, watching the technicians at their work to avoid looking at the ruin floating nearby. He nodded respectfully to the Grand Admiral as he passed his command chair, but did not stop. Too much to do, and too little time. He paused a moment at the Operations station, watched as the rating on duty worked through his reports, supervised by a Lieutenant who was taking great care in helping the newcomer learn his job. Pellaeon approved. They might have to make due with poorly-trained and too-young officers and crew, but if the seniors took up the slack they'd manage yet.

Whatever the New Republic might say, the Empire had not lost yet.

The sensor tech on duty interrupted his train of thought. "Captain Pellaeon! New contact, bearing 214 by 335. It's another one of our Star Destroyers."

He frowned slightly. He disliked having reports shouted across the bridge as if it was nothing but a marketplace. Lips pressed tight together, he walked with a crisp, deliberate stride towards the section of the crew pit where the tech had shouted. The start of a second call was stifled almost before it began. A small point in favour of the duty officer, but too little, too late.

Pellaeon glared down into the crew pit, skewering the rating at the sensor board. The duty officer, next to him, was not entirely spared his ire. The poor ensign was pale, and looked like he wanted to vanish into the deckplates. In an icy tone, Pellaeon said, "Were you trained to simply bellow routine information?"

Very quietly, he replied, "Nosir."

"What is the correct procedure for relaying routine information?"

"Tell the duty officer, who relays it as needed."

"And you were unable to remember this _why_?"

"No excuse, sir."

Pellaeon let the silence hang for a moment, shooting the duty officer a glare that said, _his failure reflects poorly on you as well._ The duty officer swallowed, nodded.

"Now," continued Pellaeon in a more normal tone. "Identify the contact, please."

The rating turned back to his display, then whispered to the duty officer. "The Star Destroyer _Death's Head,_ Captain."

"Excellent. Communications, please relay them their place in the formation. Carry on." He resumed his stalk along the deck.

A gesture from the Grand Admiral stopped him. "A moment, Captain."

He moved close to the command chair. "Sir?"

"Please relay a message to _Death's Head._ I would like to speak to her Captain in person at his earliest convenience."

* * *

Captain Janos Harbid resisted the urge to adjust his collar as he entered the darkened anteroom. The captain of the Imperial Star Destroyer _Death's Head_ was one of the more senior members of Grand Admiral Thrawn's fleet, and this was hardly the first time he had been called into the Admiral's presence. He knew Rukh and his habits well, and was resolved to not react to the inevitable ambush.

"Captain Harbid, reporting to the Grand Admiral, as ordered," he announced to the room, glancing about the gloom.

Rukh mewled "The Admiral will see you now," just behind his left ear, and the human nearly jumped out of his skin.

Harbid glowered at the Noghri for a moment, then gathered himself and walked into the Grand Admiral's main audience chamber. _What shall the décor be this time?_ He wondered. The Grand Admiral tended towards art displays in his audience chamber. Sculptures, flatpics, paintings... rumor had it that he went through them all, mostly holos but some real ones, supposedly divining some great wisdom and understanding of a species from its art.

Harbid supposed there was some merit to that kind of idea, and if nothing else, it might explain the Grand Admiral's brilliance at predicting the actions of his foes. He stepped into the Grand Admiral's audience chamber, and found himself surrounded by metallic sculptures, each of them a complex array of cogs, gears, and assorted mechanisms, copper, brass and steel with details and highlights picked out in silvers.

He suppressed the urge to whistle. He'd spent enough time on ships to recognize skilled engineering when he saw it: every one of these was designed with _some_ task in mind beyond simply looking complex and beautiful, though he was unsure what task some would be put to. For a moment he paused, trying to divine the purpose of one of the cogged mechanisms.

The Grand Admiral's voice cut through his musings. "Omnisian _Jasgaline_ sculptures."

Harbid managed to not jump this time. "Remarkable craftsmanship."

"Indeed. A world of artisans."

"My apologies for being distracted, Admiral. Reporting as ordered."

"Thank you, Captain. I have decided that _Death's Head_ shall not be part of our strike at Sluis Van."

"I... see, Admiral. Might I ask why?" That attack was set to be a resounding triumph for the Empire, stealing a sizable chunk of the New Repub- the Rebel's capital ship assets and throwing their chain of command into chaos in one stroke. He'd been rather looking forward to it.

"You may, Captain Harbid. I have an important and confidential mission for you, in the Unknown Regions. I believe you have done a tour of duty there before."

"I have, as Executive Officer of the _Stormhawk._" He paused for a moment, remembering. "I do recall a visit to Omniss on that tour, sir."

"Excellent. Their techno-mystics are highly skilled at working with... unusual technologies. I would like to commission some work from them."

The light came on. "The _Voyager_ incident?"

The red gaze inclined slightly in a nod. "Indeed."

Harbid thought hard. "At our best speed _Death's Head_ should be able to make the journey to Omniss in just under two weeks, Admiral. I would have to consult my astrogator for a more precise estimate. We are to set out at once?"

"As soon as the materiel and data is loaded. That will be all, Captain. Good day."

* * *

_Claudia_'s deck shook as the TSAB Cruiser's shields absorbed a volley of plasma blasts.

The Bradeson flotilla they'd stumbled into had them outgunned, but not by much – both forces seemed to be scouting groups, not battlegroups. As the most powerful ship under his command, _Claudia_ had taken point, absorbing the majority of the Bradeson fire. The guns – plasma cannons fueled by raw magic – lacked the elegance and physics-violating targeting of the TSAB's Mystic Blast Cannons, but they made up the lack in power.

_Claudia_ replied to the latest Bradeson volley, both her broadsides lashing out at the black-on-bronze battlecruiser. The port batteries fired first, blasts making a pair of ninety-degree turns in space to lance at their tormentor, the starboard batteries a split second behind them. The time-on-target volleys finally cracked through the larger ship's shields, energy blunting the knife-edge of the battlecruiser's prow.

Admiral Chrono Harlaown glanced at his status board, frowning. His was a scouting force, not intended for war. One had to find one's foes before one could go to war. So they had spent the last two months scouting across the multiverse, starting bare days after the end of the Battle of Tokyo, and until an hour ago they had seen no sign of the Bradesons.

There were only so many ships dedicated to the scouting, and it was, to be frank, a damned big multiverse.

The deck shook once again, this time more violently, as _Claudia_'s own shields crumbled beneath the onslaught. They couldn't take much more of this pounding. "Signal the task force- retreat. Prepare a runecharge to cover us."

"Aye, Admiral."

The fleet began to disengage, maneuvering to jump-distance from the Bradesons. Seeing this, and seeming unwilling to let their quarry escape, the Bradeson forces shifted their fire from _Claudia _to her consorts. Plasma beams and missiles lashed out at the cruisers _Maybel _and _Jaenen. Maybel_ weathered the unexpected fire well, but _Jaenen's _shields, already weathered from a handful of prior volleys, crumbled at the leading edge of the volley, leaving the majority of it to savage the light cruiser terribly.

"Put me through to _Jaenen_'s captain."

A slightly wavery hologram of Chev Kolo faded into view at the comm. "Admiral. Our jump drive is out. No estimate on repair time yet, but my gut says too long." The younger man quirked a smile. "I need to stop leading with my chin."

Chrono returned the smile for a moment. "Get your people out of there, Chev. We should be able to keep them off you long enough."

"Will do. We've started purging the nav database and setting the scuttling charges. They won't get anything out of _Jae_ when we're gone." Chev cut the comm.

"Signal the _Maybel _and _Hilda._ Have them teleport _Jaenen_'s crew clear," Chrono barked, snarling at the hostiles on his screen.

"They're already on it, sir."

"Guns, hit those missile boats! Draw their fire off of _Jaenen _and onto us until they're ready!"

Cannons blazing, ECM blasting a scree of jamming, the cruiser moved to shield her compatriots for the critical seconds they needed. Two of the Bradeson light cruisers belched missiles at them. A dozen of the fifty missiles could not lock on, MIDAR blinded by the jamming. A dozen more were destroyed by desperate counterfire from _Claudia_ and _Hilda_. But the remainder bored in on the wounded cruiser.

"For what we are about to receive," muttered one of the bridge crew, "May the Gods make us truly thankful..."

The deck bucked like a wounded beast, and for a brief second Chrono heard the distinct _whoosh-THUMP_ of atmosphere venting and control bulkheads slamming shut. He cringed, put the thought out of his mind for the moment, and watched the status reports of the ships under his command. After too-many agonizing seconds, the ships reported ready, and he barked the command to retreat.

As the dimensional drive kicked in, he saw _Jaenen_ break up from her scuttling charges and the glitter of a runecharge. As they slipped between dimensions, the runecharge detonated, sending a wash of raw magical energy in all directions, obscuring their trail.

* * *

_We got off light, all things considered, _he thought to himself hours later. There had been relatively few fatalities, and while all of its ships had taken damage, the scouting force was only down a single vessel. They'd destroyed two of their foes, possibly crippled a third. Tactically, from a cold blooded standpoint, it was not a bad exchange.

Strategically... he had no idea.

The TSAB was in an information vacuum where the Dimensional Republic of Bradeson was concerned; a position it was not familiar with. They knew nothing of their enemy's motives, or their home dimensions. They knew little about their techbase – the wreckage from the Battle of Tokyo had been sifted with a fine screen, but most of those ships had died very hard indeed. Nor had they managed to take many prisoners, and those they had couldn't give them the information they needed. What data they had could only really lead them to infer a few things: the Bradeson's Magitech was only broadly similar to their own, seemed less refined and favoring the 'tech' part of magitech more than their own did; and, based on the lack of temporal anomalies around them, operated from a dimension or dimensions with a similar flow of time to their own.

It didn't help that most of the Admiralty was divided. Some, faced for the first time in their careers, with a foe that could potentially overwhelm them in a straight fight, wanted to go entirely on the defensive, and fortify all the home systems and protectorates beyond any possibility of attack. Others called for a preemptive assault – never mind that they did not know _where _to aim such a thing – and to make an example of any who would challenge them. And a small but vocal faction thought that they should do nothing – repository of a remarkable number of Lost Logia and excellent source of recruits or not, Earth was, to them, nothing more than an Unadministered backwater, not worth the lives that had already been lost in its defense, to say nothing of more. That faction was calling for the heads of everyone involved in the Battle.

Chrono, understandably, wished them no luck. But he still wished he knew more. _If we'd been ready for that fight, perhaps we'd be learning more right now._ He sighed. Too late, now, to try and second guess the day's acts. They'd gathered some useful tactical data, if nothing else. Perhaps someone in the Archives division could divine some greater wisdom from it. Beyond perhaps calling Scrya personally, he'd done all he could – and he really didn't have the data to make contacting the head Archivist worthwhile.

The young admiral sighed once more. He'd done all he could for now. Perhaps the best thing he could do would be to send a message to his wife, and get some sleep. Tomorrow, he hoped, there would be some answers.

If not, they would just have to keep looking.

* * *

It had been a long journey, but _Death's Head_ had reached her goal. Omniss turned below them, her cities cloaked by a miasma of their own making. Satellites glittered like gems above the smog, long chains of them drifting in precise orbits, looking more an intricate dance than traffic patterns. The planetary traffic control had demanded their identities and business on arrival, and they had spent the hours since waiting patiently, diplomatically and politely ignoring the various orbital weapons platforms that were almost, but not quite, tracking them.

Janos Harbid hadn't lasted this long in Imperial service by being an impatient man, and he had more experience than most of his fellow captains in dealing with isolated worlds. Most worlds in the Unknown Regions held little fear for the Empire, knowing that their distance from its seat of power was a solid armor: it would take a great deal for it to be _worth_ the Empire's time to send an assault force against remote worlds. They would seldom do anything overtly rude or hostile, of course, but if one did not at least pay lip service to local customs, one would be politely ignored.

Omniss was both better and worse than some. Better, in that they had relatively simple motives: they found all forms of technology fascinating, and could seldom resist seeing something new. Worse, in that their orbital works likely had the firepower to stand off any single Star Destroyer with ease. They were hard to offend, but if you _did..._

_Best not to think of that now._ He forced his mind away from such speculation. Much as he might find backup a comfort, it would be counterproductive at this point. Grand Admiral Thrawn wanted their co-operation, which meant that he could not use the stick, only the carrot. He would be patient, polite, and efficient in his dealings. His ego was nothing in the face of the needs of the Empire.

He was jolted from his reverie by the comm officer. "Captain Harbid, transmission from the surface. They are asking for you by name, Sir."

"Understood. I'll take the transmission from my station, Lieutenant." He quickly straightened his cap as the screen resolved into the Techno-Mystic who they had contacted earlier. "Mystic Nassistor, greetings."

The hooded being's voice was a low rasp. "Greetings, emissary of Grand Admiral Thrawn. We have considered your data and your patron's offer."

Harbid kept his expression neutral. "I see. And your decision?"

"The puzzle you present interests us. We shall take the offer."

* * *

The Great Hall of Qo'noS shook with cheers as the Rites of Succession finished and Emperor Khaless pronounced its closing. The victor of those rites was no suprise to any of those gathered, and even Councilor K'Tal, who had run against him, cheered, as Chancellor Martok was draped in the ceremonial robes of office. The one-eyed Klingon looked resigned to his fate; all gathered knew he had not sought it, and had insisted on Arbitration in an attempt to get out of it. It was not the first time in Klingon history that a reluctant Chancellor had been inducted, though the event was indeed rare.

Jean-Luc Picard, Arbiter of Succession for the second time of his life, applauded. The diplomat in him was well pleased to see this. While the war with the Dominion was over, the Federation had a need for strong allies. Martok had spent much of the last year working with Starfleet and was both liked and respected by a sizable portion of the Admiralty. There were already rumors that the old officer exchange program was to be reinstated.

_Though that might be more the doing of his ambassadors, _thought Picard, glancing towards Worf and Jadzia. The two had formally left Starfleet to take up their rolls, and while having the Klingon Ambassador to the United Federation of Planets married to the Federation Ambassador to the Klingon Empire was somewhat unusual, none could deny that it kept the lines of communication open.

The proceedings – not particularly solemn to begin with – quickly developed a celebratory air. Ever the diplomat, Picard accepted the mug of bloodwine he was presented with politely, though he didn't do much more than sip at it. It wasn't the worst drink he'd ever had to get through in the name of diplomacy, but it was vastly stronger than anything he drank regularly. Still, it had been a good day. He made his way towards his former security chief.

Worf was speaking in low tones with the former General, who gave Picard a sour look. "Captain. I suppose I should thank you for acting as Arbiter for us." His frown deepened, "Though I mislike the results of your Arbitration. I'm an old soldier, not a politician."

Picard smiled. "I suspect you will do as well at this as you have every other task the Empire has asked of you."

"True enough. I shall certainly try."

Worf smiled. "You will succeed. It is in your nature." The big Klingon chuckled for a moment. "And after watching you kill Gowron, I am not surprised that this was little more than a formality."

Martok looked slightly embarrassed for a moment. "He should not have struck a woman of my House in my presence. I could tolerate what he was doing to my personal honor for the good of the Empire, but that..." He shook his head. "Jadzia will probably be the death of me yet."

Picard asked, "Then why did you make her your ambassador?"

Jadzia herself walked up, planted a quick kiss on her husband's cheek. "So that he could at least pretend to have some brake on my antics." She smiled. "I'm a little wilder than appropriate for a member of a noble house. Captain Picard, it's an honor."

"Likewise, Ambassador."

Dax turned to the Chancellor. "And I stand by what I said to Gowron. What he was doing to you was dishonorable and wrong."

"Perhaps, but for the good of the Empire, I did not want to disrupt things in the middle of a war."

The conversation stopped temporarily, as a number of lesser Klingon nobles and officers of rank arrived, each wanting to give the new Chancellor their congratulations. Martok bore up under their attentions remarkably well, though when the last of the politicos took his leave, the old soldier couldn't keep the distaste from his face. "Phaug. I should have tried harder to avoid this."

"I'm sure you'll learn how to manage them," said Jadzia.

"Exactly. _Manage_ them. _Manipulate _them. I am a soldier! Give me an enemy to fight and a quartermaster to bargain with, not some dance of sweet words and _d'k tahg _in the back. I do not _want_ to be a.. _politician._" The last word dripped with distaste.

The Trill grinned impishly. "Just think of it as a polite sort of duel." That roused a low chuckle from Worf.

Martok turned, waving them off as he walked away. "Bah! Such disrespect! I can get that from my wife."

The three watched him leave, then Worf asked, "Captain. Have you been told your next assignment yet?"

"Not yet, Ambassador. I've asked for an exploratory assignment, but I suspect the Diplomatic Service will have us on another 'show the flag' tour."

Dax fought the urge to laugh at his frown. "You make it sound so terrible."

Picard took a sip of his bloodwine. "All a matter of perspective."

* * *

The Omnisian shuttle was a strangely elegant thing, all smooth lines and curves. From his vantage point on the hangar deck, Captain Harbid could see no welds or seams – a remarkable feat of craftsmanship. This far from the core, he was out of even Hypercomm range with the rest of the fleet, and had fallen back on the Grand Admiral's orders to wait for the techno-mystics to produce results. It had been a very, very long two weeks of drills and assorted busywork.

Still, the techno-mystics were here now, hopefully with at least _some_ information. The shuttle's ramp lowered – even watching it go down, he couldn't tell where the seam had been, a hell of a trick – and two robed figures descended. One was unfamiliar, but he recognized the marks on the other's sleeve. They moved with an inhuman smoothness, as if not walking but floating, and every motion was accompanied by faint mechanical clicks and whirrs.

Harbid shuddered involuntarily at the sounds, but quickly policed his expression back to neutrality. "Welcome aboard the _Death's Head_, Mystic Nassistor."

The techno-mystic wasted no time on preamble. "You have given us a greater gift than you know. These Borg are everything we have wished to be; a perfect communion of life and technology. You have shown us the Way."

Harbid blinked. He'd expected many things. Religious fervor was not one of them. "It... was my pleasure. I am only following the Grand Admiral's orders."

"Then our thanks go to Grand Admiral Thrawn. And I believe his ambitions will be served by what we have done."

"I.. See. Might I ask what you have done?"

"We interfaced with the Borg computer banks, and shared in its knowledge. The High Mystics communed with She Who Is As Gold; and shared this knowledge with Her. With Borg knowledge, Her divine inspiration, and Omnisian craftsmanship, we have created an Engine the like of which has never been seen. An Engine that will help the Grand Admiral win his war."

* * *

The 'Engine' the Omnisians had brought with them was a small thing, all told, perhaps four meters in length and a meter and a half in height and breadth. Runes and flowing scripts adorned its outer casing, and even just sitting there, attached to the backup hyperdrive, it seemed... energized, as though the slightest touch would blast one back with shock.

The Techno-Mystic's explanation of what it did had been steeped in religious terms and dogma, but he had the rough idea that it was supposed to allow nigh-instant travel between any two points you cared to map, by way of a third. He wasn't entirely sure what the third point was – that section of the explanation was particularly dogma-choked – but it certainly was, in theory, the sort of secret weapon that could cause incredible amounts of havoc.

All that said, he would be vastly more comfortable with the situation if they could test it first in something that wasn't his Star Destroyer. But the Mystics were being insistent, and the orbital weapons platforms that surrounded them were being equally so. Apparently, She Who Is As Gold was quite insistent that they test this device now, and test it on the Star Destroyer.

The weapons platforms, combined with the fact that his orders required him to be polite to the natives, kept Harbid coldly polite. Attempting a drastic refusal would likely not go well for them. While his orbit was high enough that _Death's Head_ would be able to jump out of the edge of the planet's own gravity well, one of the weapons platforms had some equivalent to an Interdictor Cruiser's Gravwell generator. Jumping quickly would not be possible. His best bet – only bet, at this point – would be to co-operate, and pray to any deity who happened to be listening that the kriffing thing didn't blow up in their faces. For now, at least, the air scrubbers were keeping up with the incense wafting through the Bridge. He took some minor, irrational comfort in that; a victory of Imperial efficiency over alien mysticism.

Five Techno-Mystics stood in a circle around what looked to be the unholy offspring of an incense brazier and a navicomputer, arms and voices raised. He had been assured that this was very scientific, and required to make the Engine work.

Finally, the moment came. The droning liturgy of the techno-mystics had risen in volume and fervor for several minutes, sounding simultaneously like an engineer's status report and a prayer; in a perfect clockwork cadence. Harbid wished he had a protocol droid or some other translator available – he rather wondered what they were talking about. Finally, Nassistor turned from the group towards his command chair. "We are ready to activate the Engine, Captain Harbid. What system shall we meet the Grand Admiral in? We owe him great thanks for his gift to us."

_Do they seriously think I'll just give them classified information? _Harbid resisted the urge to snort derisively. _Remember._ _Polite. Diplomatic._ "To be honest, I am unsure of the best system to reach the Grand Admiral in at this time – but I know a good initial destination, where we'll be able to contact him from via the Holonet." His mind quickly considered and discarded a dozen possible destinations before settling on one– he wanted a known Imperial world, unremarkable and unimportant, far enough from the front to be safe from the New Republic but still in Holonet range of just about anywhere the Grand Admiral could be. "The Kalarba system."

"Thank you. If your Astrogator could bring it up for us?"

Harbid gave the young officer a short nod, and he bent to his console. Quickly, the system appeared on the console nearest the Techno-Mystics, a blinking dot amid the stars.

"Excellent. We can begin, Captain." He turned back to his fellows, said something in their strange, clicking tongue. Then, in Basic, "She Who Is As Gold has heard our prayers. Hallowed be Her name." Then he pressed the large, cog-shaped button at the center of their ceremonial console. There was a sound like chiming bells-

And the bridge seemed to _twist _around them for a moment, a darkness pervading every cubic centimeter of the bridge, and just as suddenly it was gone. Janos Harbid shut his eyes for a moment, willing his guts to settle. His nose told him that several others were struggling with nausea as well. Whatever the hell that was, it had been very intense and blessedly brief.

One of the duty officers suddenly hissed, _"Emperor's Black Bones!_"

Harbid turned towards the swearing officer by instinct, ready to chop him off at the ankles for the unprofessional outburst. He swayed in his command chair as his vision began to swim once more, but he fought it down and opened his mouth to lay into the offender. Then his clearing vision caught sight of the viewport.

Gone was the smog-choked world of Omniss. Gone were its deadly, glittering necklace of satellites and its network of orbital factories and stations. In their place was a healthy, beautiful blue-green world. _What in the galaxy just happened?_ He thought, dumbfounded mind trying to restart. Silence fell over the bridge as the rest of the crew took in the sight.

Nassistor broke it. "Praise be unto Her Name. The Engine works perfectly. Now, to Kalarba."

The bridge _twisted_ again, and when his vision cleared, Harbid found himself staring at another world. Two moons orbited it, only one of them natural, and a brief glance at his console confirmed that it was indeed Kalarba. _Impossible. A week and a half's journey at flank speed, and we made it in seconds._ The possibilities this Engine presented began to swim through his mind, and he felt himself smile.

* * *

On board the RNS _Farstrider_, Lieutenant (Junior Grade) Harold Davidson had been trying not to doze off when the scoutship's sensor board _ping_ed. "The hell?" he muttered as he turned towards it, brought up the alert.

Behind him, he heard the Lieutenant (Senior Grade) who had the bridge watch pointedly clear her throat. Oh, right. He needed to report this properly.

"Dimensional disturbance detected, Lieutenant. I'm attempting to localize it now." He worked in silence for a long moment, aware of Lieutenant Opel's gaze. _This is why I hate bridge duty. Too much attention..._ It didn't help that there was a lot of kruft in the signal – whatever this was, it was a _long_ way off, and he was seeing more an echo of it than the incident itself.

"There doesn't seem to be enough data to localize this, Lieutenant. I'm getting a lot of interference."

Opel crossed the bridge, reached past him and started working his console. Her frown deepened. "That _is_ a lot of interference. But wherever it is, it was powerful. And there appears to be some temporal interference as well."

Davidson tried not to jump – he'd missed that entirely himself, but now that it was pointed out he could see it clearly. "Indeed, Sir. Shall I log this for now?"

"Of course. If it happens again, we'll need to be on alert. Who knows who this is, or what they want." She returned to her station.

Oh, he wished she hadn't said that last. The Dimensional Republic of Bradeson was already fighting a war with one power whose borders, forces, and extent, they did not know. Adding another to the mix could have dire consequences.

_I hope we find them first. And that the diplomats don't screw everything up._


	3. Chapter 2

_Disclaimer: I own none of the universes that this wanders through and make no claim to the worlds and characters therein. This is intended entirely as tribute and entertainment. Also, working 12 graveyard shifts in a row is way harder than I remember it being. I'm getting too old for this nonsense..._

Chapter 2

The Star Destroyer _Death's Head_ floated in deep space, stark white hull barely lit by the distant stars. _Chimaera_ floated alongside. They had rendezvoused at this forlorn section of the galaxy to avoid attention. It wasn't one of Thrawn's official rendezvous points – the Grand Admiral felt it prudent to keep _some _secrets from their 'allies.'

The Techno-Mystics were under guard, in their quarters. A polite, respectful guard, of course, but under guard nonetheless. They would not be allowed to leave, and their computer access was being strictly monitored. Quite probably futile, given how incredibly good with technology they were, but the Imperials had to at least make an effort. It was the principle of the thing.

Harbid had just finished debriefing the Grand Admiral on his excursion. "...I've had the sensor techs go through every reading we had of the... jump... since we arrived in Kalarba, Admiral. Once they have some conclusions I'll forward a full report."

"Excellent," he replied, red eyes ablaze with thought. "As well, please forward the raw data to _Chimaera_. I would like my own Intelligence people to review it."

"Of course, Admiral. I'll also pass along the data from Hosk Station. I will admit, I found it... disturbing." Unbidden, the imagery the orbital space station had gathered flowed through his mind. One moment, a pristine view of the outer system. The next, _Death's Head _erupting from something that looked, for all the galaxy, like a massive, mottled bruise. It faded slowly, allowing the starlight to show, over most of a minute. Nassistor had simply called it 'Her mark upon the universe' when they'd shown it to him. Harbid disliked mysteries and fanatics, and he was dealing with both now. The thought of getting the Intel people on the case was a comfort – surely one of them would manage to divine its meaning.

If not, at least he'd have done everything he could.

Thrawn spoke again. "I am curious about this planet you observed during your transit."

"We didn't get a clear scan of it," frowned Harbid. "In all honesty, Admiral, I think we were all too surprised, and I didn't think to have the sensor watch on high alert." He silently braced himself – the Grand Admiral appreciated honesty and would probably come down easier on him for not trying to shift blame. Surprised or not, it was still his mistake.

"Understandable." Harbid felt his heart start beating again. "We shall have to investigate further, then. Can your 'Engine' simply take you to that world, and not immediately away?"

"I think so. It's hard to get a straight answer out of the Omnissians, but once you strip the dogma out of their explanations it seems like there's two stages to the jumps." Harbid shrugged. "I admit the drive is a mystery-" _a mystery I'd love to rip out of my engine room and give someone else _"-but it does seem logical to me."

"Very well." The Grand Admiral stepped his fingers together. "In that case, I believe _Death's Head_ can be spared from fleet duties for the week a system survey would take." A thin smile. "If we are to make use of a shortcut, we would do well to know more about it."

* * *

Mid Twentieth Century rock and roll music flowed from a portable stereo in front of a house that could have been lifted from American Suburbia of the same era. The houses to either side were similarly styled. It was a little slice of Old Earth nostalgia in the modern world.

Admiral Owen Paris was in his civvies, but he still drew looks from passers by; modern styles looking decidedly out of place amid denim pants and button-up shirts. He felt self conscious, but didn't let that dissuade him. He'd come for a reason.

The portable stereo sat next to a classically styled car – a 'muscle car' if he remembered the terms right – in bright blue with white racing stripes. Two legs stuck out from under the front end, amid an assortment of vaguely-organized tools. The Admiral double-checked the address on the quaint mailbox at the end of the driveway, then walked up to the car. Now he just had to figure out what to say. That was the problem with transporters; no time to think on your way over.

As he approached the car, an arm reached from beneath it, groping for a tool. It looked like it was going for a specific wrench, one just centimeters out of reach. Owen bent down, handed the wrench to the mechanic. The other man took the wrench, then stiffened. With a sound of metal casters on concrete, Tom Paris slid out from under the car. He looked and sounded surprised. "Dad?"

"Good afternoon, son."

Both men stood, both at a loss for words.

"Beautiful car," said Owen awkwardly.

"1967 Shelby GT350." For a moment, the two men stood in silence, admiring the classic car, then Tom said, "Dad, what are you doing here?"

"A man can't drop in to see how his son is doing?"

"Dad. I'm the black sheep of the family, a mighty embarrassment, and the millstone around your neck. What are you doing here?"

The Admiral exhaled loudly. He wished he'd figured out a better way to ask this, but his imagination had failed him. He'd just have to ask bluntly. "The Science Division has made a breakthrough on its Dimensional Drive research. They've got a prototype ready to test."

"Interesting. It sounds like you're looking for a crew."

"I am."

"Not happening." Tom's tone was obstinate. "Dad, I resigned my commission for a reason. I've had enough of the strange new worlds and new civilizations." He turned back to the car.

"Tom... Son. Please, hear me out."

Tom paused, crouched next to the rolling board. "Talk."

"This is new ground for Starfleet; for all of the Federation, as far as we know. There is all of one crew in the Fleet with _any_ experience with this kind of interdimensional travel."

"_Voyager._"

"Yes."

"And everyone who didn't immediately resign after getting back is scattered to hell and gone across the fleet." Tom stood again, turned back to his father. "We got lucky as hell to get back from our _last _long trip – the one that stranded us in the Delta Quadrant in the first place. Do you seriously think any of us are gonna volunteer to head back out?"

"Seven of Nine has. Lieutenant Vorik, Ensign Lang, a few others. This kind of mission needs exceptional officers. And whatever differences we've had, son, you've proven yourself to be exceptional. We're also going to be talking to as many of the ship's engineers as we can; since you encountered some interesting problems on your previous trip."

"Engineers." Tom's tone was dangerously flat.

Well, he still hadn't had any brilliant ideas to get through this politely... "Yes."

"Including B'Elanna?"

The older man braced himself. "Yes."

Tom snarled, one fist clenching. "So if I say no, you're going to try and recruit my wife – your daughter in law – anyway?"

"Yes, son, I am. Because this is important."

From the front of the house came B'Elanna's voice. "Is this a meeting or a fight, Tom?"

"Don't know yet."

"Well, clue me in before you start something." The half-klingon walked towards the two men, fixed her father-in-law with a glare. "Why's this mission so important?"

Owen Paris glanced around the street. The confrontation had brought them attention from the neighbors. "I'd prefer to discuss this more privately." He gave his son a pleading look.

Tom stood in silent thought for a few moments, then shared a glance with his wife. "Fine. Come on in."

* * *

Inside, the house had the same deliberately quaint appearance as out, but there were several concessions to modernity. Owen spotted a replicator and a comm console at a quick glance. He took a seat at the kitchen table across from his daughter-in-law while Tom busied himself gathering glasses and something to drink. "So," asked his son, "Why's this so important?"

The older man took a sip of his iced tea. "Starfleet's been aware of the existence of alternate universes for quite some time. Since the 2260s, actually. But other than take precautions to prevent the specific method of reaching that universe from re-occurring-"

"Kirk's transporter accident?" B'Elanna interjected.

"Yes. But other than that, we couldn't do much about it. At the time Starfleet was occupied with so many other crises and dangers that we simply didn't have the resources to devote to it. Since then, we haven't had much contact with extradimensional groups and the project fell to the back burner, so to speak."

"Then we went pinballing across the universes," said Tom, "and made people remember it?"

"Yes. You also brought back a wealth of useful data."

B'Elanna nodded. "Hence a sudden breakthrough. But why's the fleet so desperate to get _Voyager_ people back for this?"

Owen looked away for a moment. "Because this is new ground we're breaking, and there's a lot of... conservative people on the council. Only the fact that we know there could be some danger from those other universes is giving us the momentum to pull this off. They want people who've dealt with this kind of thing before as a sort of safety net."

Tom nodded slowly, exchanged another look with his wife. "Who's the CO? Janeway?"

"No, the Board of Inquiry's determination with her stands. She's staying with the Science Division."

"Then who?"

"Our most experienced man when it comes to dealing with the unknown and unexpected. Jean-Luc Picard."

The young couple exchanged another look. "We'll think about it."

Owen stood to leave. "Well. Thank you for that, at least. I'll just be going, I suppose."

He'd only made it a few steps when he heard his son stand. "Dad... why'd you come yourself? Why not just call?"

Owen sighed, decided that, however embarrassing it might be, his 'straight, honest answer' policy might just be the best thing here, too. "I haven't been the best father to you, Tom. Too caught up in myself, too proud. I wanted to see you. But just coming down to see you would be... it wouldn't be me."

B'Elanna's voice was softer than he was used to from the young half-Klingon. "Well, next time, just come by."

Owen barked a laugh. "I might just. Good day."

He walked into sunlight and artificial suburbia, trying to ignore the little voice in the back of his head reminding him of the saw about old dogs and new tricks.

* * *

The universe twisted around _Death's Head_ once again, and Janos Harbid kept his eyes closed for a few moments until his stomach had settled. _These jumps seem to get harder on the system. You'd think I'd get used to them._ Ignoring the beginnings of a headache, he said, "Thank you, Nassistor. Astrogator, position check, please."

The response was swift. "We're at the rendezvous co-ordinates, Sir."

"Excellent. Sensors; can you detect the Flag?" He couldn't see any other ships from the viewport, but that didn't necessarily mean anything.

"Negative, sir, it looks like it's just us."

Harbid frowned. _That's unlike Thrawn. Unlike Pellaeon for that matter. Unless something's happened... _"Recheck. Signals – query the fleet for a status report."

He resisted the urge to glare at the Techno-Mystics, who stood around their damnable incense-burning console with an infuriating tranquility. Damn them and their bloody Engine. If something had happened... something that _Death's Head_ could have affected were they with the bulk of the fleet instead of in the middle of no-where surveying some podunk system...

The duty officer quickly climbed out of the crew pit, walked up. "Sir, we've queried the HoloNet and... well, I'm not sure what's going on. According to the HoloNet, we were only gone for two days."

Harbid blinked. "That's impossible. We spent a week surveying in that system."

"I know, sir. But... that's what we've found."

There was a moment of silence as Harbid let that sink in. "Contact _Chimaera_. The Grand Admiral will want to hear about this."

* * *

Transiting through the Matrix took a toll on the minds and, some whispered, the souls of the spacers who made the trips, but they were hardy folk, who took to the challenge with the verve and stubbornness of their breed. Let civilians cower and hide from space, they were _real_ men and women who feared no darkness, nor the visions that lurked in it.

But still, they tended to concentrate on their work and ignore those visions. It was only sensible, of course. The Matrix was beyond the edge of the sidereal universe, and human life could not survive there. Therefor it behooved the crew to pay attention to their jobs. Especially the riggers, who risked dying utterly alone in the blackness should they suffer any misstep out on the hull. Spacers _certainly _didn't concentrate so monomaniacly because they feared what, or perhaps _who_, they might see.

So when a _thing_ like a twenty-foot long giant squid flew alongside the _Princess Cecile_, most of the crew wrote it off as a delusion until one of its tentacles tangled itself in the port rigging. The creature seemed almost as surprised as the riggers, and lurched away from the corvette. The mast it's tentacle had reflexively grasped tore away from the hull, sails shredding and lines parting with a _twang_ that could be heard through hull contact. Something vaguely resembling a mouth – triangular, with three lips – opened, revealing wickedly serrated teeth, and the creature roared in surprise and challenge – a roar that, impossibly, the riggers and crew within the hull could hear.

Within _Princess Cecile_'s bridge, Captain Daniel Leary gritted his teeth against that horrid, impossible roar and overrode the navigator's controls, transitioning the ship from the Matrix and back into the sidereal universe. As reality faded into view around them, he hit the intercomm and said, "All hands, prepare for acceleration." He waited a moment for the spacers around him to find a grip on something, glanced at Signals Officer Mundy to make sure she was strapped in, then kicked in the High Drive, pushing the corvette into motion on plumes of matter-antimatter thrust.

On the tactical display, Leary saw the creature suddenly appear in normal-space to port. The external cameras showed the creature as it seemed to cast about for a moment, then accelerated towards them, mouth opened in its impossible roar, eyes filled with malevolence above them. It's tentacles reeled back in preparation to strike at the cylindrical ship. Something like St. Elmo's Fire began to crackle between its raised tentacles, and a bolt of light lept from them, tearing into the _Sissy_'s rigging. Leary felt the ship shake, breathed a short prayer that none of the riggers had been caught in that blast.

Then Sun shot the thing with the forward plasma cannon, the blast catching in just below one of its eyes. The creature's roar of challenge shrilled into a scream of pain, and it spun away as if stung. Another plasma bolt lashed out at it, searing one of the trailing tentacles.

Then what looked like a mottled, purple and green bruise formed on space itself, and the creature vanished. It's impossible screams cut off at once; the bruise faded over half a minute.

Heart racing, Leary sank back into his command chair. _What the hell was that?_ He thought, and glanced at Mundy. The Signals Officer looked just as lost as he was; never a good sign.

* * *

Grand Admiral Thrawn's expression was unreadable, his red eyes glowing with a smoldering intensity, as he listened to Captain Harbid's report.

_..."There was no sign of space-based infrastructure or even spaceflight capacity. The world's tech level is mostly low, seeming to be late midevil with a few early Industrial age outliers. Some very large and dangerous-seeming megafauna, with a fair amount of variation between species. Most of the civilized population appears to be human, though there are several other species around." _He paused for a moment. _"The rest of the system appears to be unremarkable. Asteroid belt, three gas giants and two unremarkable worlds in the outer system. One other planet in the inner system, uninhabitable."_

There was a moment of silence as the Grand Admiral processed this. "Thank you, Captain. Tell me, do the Techno-Mystics have any ideas as to why only two days passed here while you spent seven surveying?"

The sixth-scale hologram of Janos Harbid was low in detail, but his expression of concern and unease was still clear. _"I don't believe so, Admiral. It is difficult to filter their answers at the best of times, thanks to their dogmatic response to any question of technology, but they are being particularly inscrutable about this. They seem to have defaulted to calling it a 'gift from She Who Is As Gold."_

"I see," said the Admiral. "Well. Have they any further information about the device's capabilities?"

_"Not much. They have said that it should be able to move more than just one ship at a time, though I haven't tested that yet."_

"By all means, Captain, please do so. And keep me advised of your findings."

_"Of course, Sir. Thank you."_

_

* * *

_

_How did I let myself get talked into this? _Tom Paris asked himself as the transporter beam deposited him in the Starfleet Headquarters Fleet Annex in San Francisco. It had been a year and change since he'd been at HQ – since the day he'd resigned, actually – and he'd sworn that he wouldn't be back.

Beside him, his wife echoed his thinking. "Six years getting home from our last trip... Why did we agree to this?"

"We're both too darn good-natured and helpful."

"Yeah. Come on, we may as well sign in and get our uniforms."

Shouldering their duffles the two prodigal officers walked through the crowd into Starfleet Headquarters. Minor miracle: someone had actually told the clerks to expect them. Larger miracle: said clerks actually had the paperwork ready and quickly, efficiently, cut them orders for the quartermasters and directions to the meeting hall where the Dimensional Drive group was supposed to meet. They made their way across the complex and, bundles of Standard Issue in hand, found the group. "I wonder how many familiar faces we'll find," Tom muttered as he surveyed the crowed hall. Several rows of chairs were set up in the middle of the room, facing a podium.

"Well, we already know about some of them from your father." B'Elanna was rubbernecking as well.

"Still irritated that you're not going to be Chief?"

The half-Klingon sighed. "A little, but I understand why. If they're doing this on an existent ship, it's own Chief's going to be annoyed enough to have an Assistant foisted of on him, forget being replaced. And since they've got Picard running the operation, it's almost certainly going to be Lieutenant Commander LaForge. If he's as good as his reputation says, I wouldn't _want_ to replace him."

"True enough. Not sure where I'll be. I wonder how maneuverable a _Sovereign_ is. Between _Voyager _and the _Flyer_ I'm pretty spoiled on that."

A voice in a thick Souse accent derailed their train of thought. "Izza' you, Tom? Been a while, mate."

Tom blinked at the voice, turned. Walking towards them and wearing a wide grin was Dave Lister. He'd traded in the old boiler suit for a modern civilian jumpsuit, but he'd kept the dreadlocks and his battered Deerstalker and leather jacket, which had acquired even more beer logo patches. "Lister! Good to see you. Didn't expect to see you here."

The Liverpooler shrugged. "'ma consultant. I found somma Holly's old notes in _Starbug_'s computer, 'anded 'em off. T' science guys found 'em useful, kept me on."

"What brings you to this part? Just showing off the result or what?"

"Nah. I'm comin' along. Subject matter expert an' all. We did some dimension flippin' of our own back on t' _Dwarf_."

B'Elanna couldn't help but smile. "Expert? You?"

"Scarey thought, innit?" He shrugged. "Wasn't goin' ta agree a' first, but t' more I thought on it... Your London's nice, but it ain't t' one I called home. Tha' an' itchy feet."

Tom snorted. "Yeah... that's probably what got us too." He smiled crookedly. "That, and I finished work on the Shelby."

"Fine car, t' Shelby. Norra patch on t' DB5, tho.'"

B'Elanna shook her head as her husband started arguing the merits of British and American sports cars with Lister, kept looking around. There were a lot of people in Science Division blue, a few other former _Voyagers_ she recognized. Plenty of strangers, though. One of those strangers appeared to be a young, brunette Trill, talking in low tones with a blonde who looked vaguely familiar. _I have to start meeting people sometime_, she thought, and walked over. Tom would be safe enough talking cars.

The Trill looked up as she approached, gave her a wide smile. "Welcome! Are you part of the Dimensional Drive team?"

"Yeah. B'Elanna Paris, formerly off _Voyager."_

The blonde spoke, and B'Elanna started in surprise. "Hello, Lieutenant. It has been quite some time."

The half-Klingon looked at the blonde in surprise and confusion. Seven of Nine, hair unbound and styled to cover her ocular implant, makeup muting the appearance of the implant on her cheek, looked back at her with an almost guarded expression. "Seven! I didn't recognize you. Why the new style?"

The former Borg drone glanced away. "An attempt to minimize tension."

_Because nobody likes having a Borg around, just like they never liked having a Klingon around_, supplied a part of her own mind. "Well, it doesn't look too bad. And I never thought I'd say this, but I'm happy to see you again." _And I might be the only one of your old shipmates to understand exactly why you're hiding things._ She thought of her old hats.

A ghost of a smile crossed Seven's features for a moment and she seemed to relax. "Thank you." She glanced at the Trill. "Please allow me to introduce Ensign Ezri Tigan, _Enterprise_'s Ships Councilor."

"Pleased to meet you." She quirked a grin. "We could have used you on _Voyager_. Hopefully this little trip is shorter, but still."

Ezri nodded. "Anything can happen." She smiled, cheeks dimpling. "I'm still a little in shock, actually. To be posted to the _Enterprise_ is such an honor."

"Well, at least with all of us in new positions, we're even."

"NuqneH pa' 'Iv 'oH SoH," said a voice from behind her. B'Elanna turned, looking up. Very up. Behind her stood a Klingon warrior almost forty centimeters taller than her.

"Uh.. Hi," she said.

The Klingon blinked, then said. "Greetings. I am G'rokas, Commander in the Klingon Defense Force and temporarily assigned to _Enterprise._ Who are you?"

"B'Elanna Paris, assistant chief engineer."

Ezri piped in. "G'Rokas is our tactical officer at the moment."

For a moment, the old Seven was back, one eyebrow raised. "I would not think that a Klingon would be interested in an exploratory mission."

The big Klingon laughed, a deep, hearty sound. "I have had my fill of fighting for now in the war against the Dominion. And exploratory mission or no, it is a chance to serve under Picard. He is considered most honorable in the Empire, and glory flocks to him." He glanced around, as if making sure no-one else was in earshot, then leaned in and said, _sotto voce,_ "And the weapons suite of a _Sovereign _class Starship puts the _Vor'cha_ I spent the war on to _shame_."

B'Elanna couldn't help herself, she chuckled along with Ezri. Even Seven managed a smile.

"Who's your friend, honey?" asked Tom as he walked up, expression carefully neutral.

"G'rokas. He's part of the officer exchange program, it looks like."

"Indeed!" said the big Klingon as he turned towards her husband. "The Chancellor, in his infinite wisdom, restarted that program and I found myself volunteering. Perhaps everyone else in the room took a step back." He extended one hand. "G'rokas, son of Jkagvar."

Tom was fighting the urge to grin. A Klingon with a sense of humor was... unexpected. He took the extended hand, bracing for a crushing handshake and determined to give back as much as he could. "Tom Paris, son of Owen. B'Elanna's husband." Ooh. He was going to feel that handshake in the morning...

"It is good to meet you." He smiled toothily, then glanced towards the podium. "I believe the briefing is about to begin."

* * *

Chrono was just drifting off to sleep when the comm console chimed. Resisting the urge to snarl, he hit the 'audio only' option. "Harlaown here."

_"Admiral, we have a response from Headquarters to your information request. They haven't identified the source of those sporadic anomalies we've been tracking, but they do have more information, and orders."_

"Let's hear it."

_"The energy signature of the anomaly is a partial match to two separate phenomena we encountered before the war. The species known as the Borg, and the curse-induced jumps of one Ryoga Hibiki."_

Chrono was fully awake now. "That... does not sound like a promising combination. What are our orders?"

_"The task force has been re-assigned to investigate this rather than continue to search for the Bradesons. Your discretion as to how."_

Chrono started pulling his uniform back on. "Call the department heads. Staff meeting in ten minutes."

Time to solve another mystery.


	4. Chapter 3

_Disclaimer: I do not own the various universes this meanders through and make no claim to them._

Chapter 3

It was a quiet day on convoy escort duty.

_Not like this route's been exciting since General Solo took down Zsinj,_ thought Commodore Foraz, commander of the escort flotilla, for what that was worth. A dozen assorted bulk freighters escorted by three Nebulon-B frigates, a Corellian Corvette and his own _Falcon Nest_ – a _Quasar Fire_ class escort carrier. Oh, it was a fair enough weight of metal to shepherd freighters through the backwaters of New Republic space. More than enough to see off any marauders or pirates who might decide to take a crack at them.

At the moment they were making a brief run in realspace, making course corrections to avoid a number of stellar phenomena between them and their destination. The ships of the escort force had made the correction already, as had most of the transports. They were waiting on the last of the transports – a pair of bulk heavy freighters of pre-Clone Wars vintage – to form up, and then they would continue. Foraz was almost certain the to merchant skippers were being deliberately slow – both had acted like such a 'small' escort to their convoy was a dire insult. Still, soon enough they'd be on their-

The proximity alarm suddenly began to wail. Foraz shot bolt upright, eyes turned towards the tactical display. What it showed caused him to pale.

"Imperial fleet just appeared – they must have come out of hyperspace or something - directly to starboard!" shouted the sensor officer. "Count one _Imperial-_class Star Destroyer, one _Victory- _class Star Destroyer, five _Carack _Cruisers, and one _Interdictor_ Cruiser."

"Sithspawn," he breathed, then gathered himself. _Do your job. Panic later._ "Order the convoy to scatter! Tell them to hyperspace before that 'Dictor can get its Gravwell Generators up to power. Flight officer – get the fighters into space _now_! Signal the group to concentrate fire on that _Interdictor_." The cruiser's gravwell projectors could disrupt their ability to jump into hyperspace – the more he gave that ship's captain to think about, the more likely he'd be able to get his own group clear. He wanted to order the entire group to jump out immediately; but they couldn't leave until the freighters were clear.

"Sir!" shouted the sensor officer, her young voice shrill with panic. "The _Interdictor –_ It's gravwell generators are _already_ running! None of the freighters can jump!"

"That's impossible," he heard himself say, "They just came out of Hyperspace..." It took several minutes to get gravwell generators up to power – not the bare seconds they'd had. From the bridge, he could see the first wave of X-wings form up as the Nebulon-Bs began to exchange fire with the _Victory_. He shook himself. Possible or not, they'd done it. And it fell to him to deal with it.

What felt like a ball of solid neutronium settled into the pit of his stomach. _Well, I always knew this day might come._ "Signal the group. Draw the Imp's fire away from the freighters. Looks like whoever's in charge over there just pulled another one out of his nether regions. Let's jam it back up, without grease." He paused for a moment. "Tell our gunners to open up on that _Imperial._ It's time to earn our munificent pay."

* * *

Arien Cracken – Director, New Republic Intelligence – sat back in his chair, lost in thought. One lucky freighter captain had made it out of that ambush intact; by virtue of sublight engines so souped up they probably bespoke semi-legal dealings when the ship wasn't on contract and the blind luck to be ignored in the earliest stages of the ambush, as _Falcon Nest_'s fighter squadrons tied up the majority of the Imperial fighters. Her captain had the presence of mind to record the entire battle – however short it had been – and its aftermath.

The Imperials had primarily used ion cannons, disabling the freighters and their escorts rather than destroying them, though one of the Nebulon-Bs had been destroyed by a wave of concussion missiles from the VSD when it tried to ram.

Then – still pounding away with ion cannon, the Star Destroyers had launched assault shuttles against the ships of the escort as well as the larger freighters. They'd demanded the fleeing ship heave to and surrender, but the merchant captain had refused – colourfully – and continued his flight, still recording. In fair time, the boarding parties managed to secure the escort ships, which moved into formation with the Imps, as well as the freighters – who had probably surrendered rather than face troops or capital ship guns.

Then the formation abruptly vanished. Not the streak of pseudomotion that heralded a jump into Hyperspace – indeed, through the entire proceedings, the _Interdictor_'s gravwell generators never stopped running – but simply _vanished_, leaving behind a blotch of purple-on-black that faded quickly into a more normal view of the starfield.

_What in the name of the force have they come up with now?_ He wondered. Some variation on the cloaking device Zsinj had used to hide _Razor's Kiss_? Or perhaps the sensor-dampener that had so confounded them at Sluis Van? He didn't know; didn't have enough information to manage more than a wild guess. Cracken didn't like that. Not one bit.

He was still deep in thought when his secretary paged him. "Director, we've just received a report from one of our field agents. The preliminary analysis suggests it's connected with that convoy ambush."

"Send it in." A clue, perhaps? Or worse news?

His secretary appeared, brandishing hardcopies and a datatape. They exchanged nods, and then he was left alone with the data and his thoughts. Cracken plugged the datatape into his console, started it decoding as he went through the hardcopy. _One of the men I have watching the Imperial yards. Interesting. Timestamp says this is from today..._ He skimmed the summary, a leaden weight settling in his stomach, then turned to the console.

There were two holo clips contained in it. The first – timestamped bare minutes before the attack on the convoy began – showed two Star Destroyers, identified as the _Formidable_ and the _Death's Head_, form up with the ships that made up the rest of the Imperial attack and then abruptly vanish in a blotch much like that shown by the freighter's report. The second was timestamped perhaps ten minutes after the attack finished. It showed the task force and its prizes.

Cracken glanced at a starmap, quickly ran the numbers. _Impossible. The fastest ships in the universe couldn't make it in even ten times that time – forget the ImpStar or the freighters. How in the name of the Force did they manage that?_

Arien Cracken wasn't an alarmist or more paranoid than his duties required. But right now, he wondered if some greater power had it in for the New Republic. And if the rumors about the Empire being lead by a Grand Admiral now were true.

* * *

Janos Harbid was not a happy captain.

By rights he should be feeling quite pleased with himself – the raid had gone all but flawlessly and in the balance a single light freighter escaping their net was of minimal importance. Indeed, it might even aid their situation – the New Republic had no way to know how they'd pulled it off, and like Thrawn's previous gambits, it could only throw them into further confusion. Right now, with their best fighting Admiral in chains – he couldn't help but smirk at the thought, at least for a moment, and send a grateful thought to opportunistic Bothans everywhere – was the Empire's best chance to restore itself to glory. They'd barely even lost any TIE Fighters – practically unheard of, that. By all rights, it was a triumph. He should have taken notes.

But his satisfaction was marred by a growing unease. The Omnissians had grown, if anything, even stranger. Now they worked in an unnerving silence, and they'd modified the bunks in their guest quarters to incorporate something that looked vaguely like droid recharge and data transfer sockets. When he asked Nassistor about this, he was simply told that they were 'following the Way revealed to them by Thrawn's Gift of Borg.' He did not trust such dogmatic mumblings, but they wouldn't give him any actual answers.

And he couldn't press. Not too overtly, at least. The Grand Admiral had assigned him additional engineers, who were trying to figure out how the Engine worked without breaking it, and until they did they needed to keep the Omnissians happy. They were still putting the drive through its paces, which was of marginal help to the technical investigation – the Techno-Mystics would allow no outsiders to interact with the Engine while it was in use.

He sighed, put those thoughts out of his mind. He had too much to do. _Death's Head_ would be leading another raid tomorrow, targeting a larger convoy this time, one with a stronger escort. Delta Source, whoever or whatever it was, had given them the details. More ships to capture, supposedly to be crewed by the first fruits of the Mount Tantiss operation, whatever that was. Much to do, and too many mysteries to deal with.

* * *

Chrono resisted the urge to sigh as he scanned the reports. Hours of scanning had failed to lock down the strange temporal and spacial anomaly that had diverted them from the hunt for the Bradesons. The energy signature was complex, with half a dozen elements woven in, complicated by temporal anomalies. All he and his own sensor techs had managed thus far was to confirm what he'd been told by the Archives division – it wasn't a match for the Bradeson's Dimensional Drive, and it had elements they'd encountered before.

It was also almost certainly causing damage to the dimensional barriers. There was simply too much raw energy, blazing and chaotic, for it _not_ to. This was not some well designed device. Some emergent power crafting a new drive was always a possibility, but the fact that two of the elements of the energy signature were near-matches to others in the database made that seem... unlikely. He didn't believe in co-incidence. Not on this scale.

_But how to track it down?_ He wondered. The bloody thing as a whole was riddled with too much chaotic energy to pin down even without the temporal anomalies playing merry hell with everything. He sat back, let the white noise of the ship wash over him as his mind turned the situation over a few times. It didn't help that something niggled at him – some thought that they were trying to solve this in exactly the wrong way.

Then it hit him. The initial Hibiki incident had been similarly hard to solve – something they'd gotten around by tracking the instigator by alternate means. Saotome's fate was linked to Hibiki's, and through that link they'd managed to trace the lost boy via sympathetic magics. Perhaps they could do the same again.

"Navigator," he said as he paged the bridge. "Plot a course to Protectorate World #97 and transmit it to the task force." He switched channels. "Communications, put me through to HQ."

* * *

It had been over a year since he'd last been to Earth, and Chrono was impressed.

They didn't have magitech, and they didn't have a united world government, but it seemed an external threat had motivated them immensely. He'd read the reports, but they hadn't really sunk in until now.

The International Space Station, ignored by the Bradesons in a gesture of contempt, was now the nucleus of a growing network of defensive satellites. Most of them were based on something called the Strategic Defense Initiative, but several were, according to the reports, something entirely new, employing what they'd learned in the battle. The weapons – a mix of mass drivers, bomb-pumped laser cannons, and missiles – would not be enough to beat off a determined, modern force, but they'd set the tone remarkably well: _This is our home and we will fight you for every inch of it._

"When these people decide to build something, they don't do it by half," muttered one of the sensor techs. "This might not stop us, but we'd know we'd been kissed. Especially once they finish it."

"'We'd know we'd been kissed.' You've been watching too many of their entertainment programs, Leyland." Chrono shook his head. While most of their tech was, of course, of no value to the TSAB, the resourceful earthers had found a market for their media, and were making a fair amount of money doing so. They couldn't get much of substance for it, of course – as a protectorate, they were subject to TSAB import laws, and the vast majority of TSAB tech and magitech was, of course, far too advanced for Earth to be ready for. Such restrictions were for their own good.

And he had to admit, he liked a fair bit of their music and shows, even if he wasn't sure they were a good influence on the youth of society. But that wasn't terribly important at the moment. They had business to conduct. Checking in with the guardian fleet took a few moments; a call from the Earther's own station command was unexpected but swift. Polite and formal, as they would hardly like to give their protectorate the idea that they weren't respected.

It was almost amusing, the way the Earthers had kept their orbital defense grid targeted on them until their pitiful lightspeed-limited sensors had confirmed they were who they said they were. A plucky bunch. _Though what should we expect from the world that gave us Nanoha Takamachi and Hayate Yagami?_

Not for the first time, he idly wondered if the TSAB was making a mistake, treating Earth like it had other, more primitive protectorates. Their level of magic was higher than the information in the TSAB database's indicated, information rolled into the general database from the files of one of the smaller powers that formed the Bureau. Once, about a year ago, Yuuno had decided to try and track down the source of that old rating for Earth. He hadn't been able to, and Chrono had enough respect for the researcher's data gathering ability to conclude that whatever report had spawned it no longer existed. A shame, really – he was genuinely curious about what it might have said.

The bureaucracy of the TSAB had decided that Earth didn't need a re-evaluation, and that there would be no harm in letting them tinker with some of the Bradeson wreckage they'd recovered. They wanted to try and solve some of their manpower issues by recruiting from the populace, and felt that a show of generosity would be useful in such an effort. Besides, they reasoned, the supposedly magicless populace would likely be unable to decipher such magitech, rendering it a harmless gesture. In Chrono's opinion, that was quite possibly a mistake, but he kept his own council. The politicians doubtless would not want it.

Finally, the task force moved into its parking orbit. Chrono's plan, at the moment, was simple: they'd try to locate the Hibiki boy, and try and trace the elements of his energy signature via sympathetic magic. If that failed, they could return to the place where they'd first encountered the Borg and try to capture some of their equipment to try the same thing – though hopefully it wouldn't come to that. The Bureau had enough fights on its hands without picking another.

* * *

Ranma Saotome, master of the Anything Goes School of Indiscriminate Grappling, took a moment to sweep the front walk of his dojo – a daily ritual he'd started months ago, shortly after purchasing the place. The Saotome Dojo wasn't terribly traditional looking, being rebuilt from the shell of a gutted warehouse after the Battle of Tokyo, but it was sizeable, well placed, and for him, it was home.

He'd moved out of Nerima to start the school after tricking the old letch into a challenge. Luckily, Happi hadn't realized just how powerful Ranma had become before the fight, and Ranma had picked his challenge site with care when the bastard showed up, ranting about girls with chainsaws and hundreds of thugs with guns and being lost at sea. It hadn't been fair, taking the old guy on when he was in that state, but fighting fair wasn't exactly a tenet of Anything Goes. Once Happi'd pulled himself out of the concrete, he'd agreed, pleased that 'at least some of my good habits' had rubbed off on him.

Soun Tendo had been happy for him, and grateful to see the Master humbled. Genma... well, Ranma didn't really know, and he didn't really care. He and his father still weren't speaking. It'd be a while before that changed if he had anything to say about it.

He'd founded his own dojo, then. Officially, it was because a true Man Among Men should be able to make his own living and build his own fortune. His mother, and the fiancees, had swallowed that. And hell, starting his own little business had been an interesting challenge in and of itself. But he'd been trying to get a little distance, a little space... and as he'd sort of guessed, the idea was doomed to failure. Less than a week after he'd opened the place and gotten his first few classes finished, he saw that two other rebuilt buildings had been bought – the new locations of Ucchan's and the Cat Cafe.

Still, even if it wasn't working the way he'd hoped, he was happy enough with the place. And he'd found that he quite enjoyed teaching. There were a few students who aggravated the hell out of him, but for the most part it worked out. He'd gotten a deal on the place, too – it had been a bit of fixer-upper for one thing, and for another, while most of the media attention and such landed on the Senshi and TSAB, he and his fellow martial artists hadn't been overlooked by the powers that be. The JSDF kept him on retainer now, to help deal with similar emergencies in the future and deal with rampaging monsters, alien invaders, or martial artists.

He figured it wasn't exactly a bad plan. Nabs had approved: he was getting money to do stuff he'd have done anyway. He got a little discreet help buying his dojo and fixing it up, and he politely ignored the fact that a largish chunk of his adult classes were JSDF troops brushing up on their combat training. Most of them even wanted to be there. More fun were the special classes, working with the fiances, Nabs, and the Senshi. They were crafting a new combat style out of whole cloth together, and even though the martial artists could use little of the magic aspects of it, it was good stuff to know.

Nightly ritual complete, Ranma turned to his door. It had been a good day. He waved at the sound of a familiar bell, as Shampoo rode past, doubtless returning from a delivery. It was time for him to catch up on his own training and hit the books for a while. He'd thrown himself into his studies, as much to spite his father's ideas of what a Real Man did and didn't need to know as because of the sheer number of times he'd found his lack of knowledge a liability.

He'd just entered when a voice sounded in his head. _Agent Saotome?_

He blinked, surprised for a moment. It had been a while since someone had contacted him this way. He took a moment to place the mental voice. _Uh, yeah. Admiral Harlaown, right?_

_Yes. We need your assistance. We're attempting to track down your associate, Hibiki, and he's proving as resistant to casual tracking spells as ever. Is this a good time?_

_ Sure. Just gimmie a minute to lock up._

_

* * *

_

Lina Inverse stared into the night sky, brow furrowed in worry. Several times over the last few weeks, she'd felt some mighty, mystic force _twist _the skies above – just for a split second, but enough times that it worried her. There was just so much power being thrown around that it scared her, and she looked down to the campfire, trying to draw some wisdom or meaning from its flickering light. Or at least comfort from its heat.

She'd hoped that the world might know some safety after Valgarv's defeat, but it seemed that it was not to be. Meditation had failed to shed any information, or even any calm. The first of the mystic things had woken her from a dead sleep, but she'd been awake, if not totally attentive, for the ones since. They felt mighty, chaotic, and somehow tainted, as if magic was not all that was involved in them. About all she knew for sure was that they didn't feel like Mazoku work. It was frustrating.

_If only I could find myself a decent atelier, I could try and study one._ She sighed. _And while I'm wishing for things, how about a Claire Bible and the Sword of Light back?_

Gravel crunched as Gourry walked back into the circle of light cast by the fire. "Can't sleep?"

"It's nothing," she said by reflex, not wanting to worry him or confuse his tiny brain. "I just hope we run into some more bandits tomorrow. I want to work out some frustrations."

He smiled. "Yeah, they've been getting a bit thin on the ground these days. We might have to head somewhere else to hunt 'em for a while." He lay back on his bedroll, sighed contentedly. "Maybe Seyruun. We've been away long enough, some of 'em might have moved there to get away from us."

"What, follow the migrating bandits?" She laughed, then took a moment to consider the suggestion. Seyruun wouldn't be a bad place to go right now, all things considered. They had allies there. And perhaps Zelgadiss could help her puzzle out this mystery.

"Not a bad idea, Gourry. We'll start back there tomorrow."

* * *

Tom Paris sat at the helm of the _Enterprise_-E and felt something remarkably like first-date jitters.

It had been a while since he'd flown, and a lot longer since he'd been at the helm of anything bigger than an _Intrepid_. Part of him – a large part – expected _Enterprise _to handle like a wallowing pig by comparison.

The bridge – the entire ship's company, really, from what he'd felt – was eager for this. _Enterprise_ was an explorer, and they'd been made to play diplomat for too long. There'd been some reorganization and turnover in the ranks, of course – Her usual councilor had taken leave to help rebuild her homeworld, and her first officer had finally accepted a promotion, among other changes. In Riker's place was the android Data, which many of the crew seemed to accept as an 'about time' sort of thing.

At some point he needed to check on the ship's doc, if only to see if she equaled her reputation. _I hope nothing goes wrong. Breaking in one EMH was hard enough._

At least there were a few familiar faces in the mix. He'd spotted a few of the _Voyager _crowd as everything got moved in and settled down. Most of them seemed to be doing well, though the changes Seven had gone through were... surprising. He wondered what kind of behavior she'd run into to inspire such a retreat into herself. It struck him as unfair – she'd proven herself in the eyes of her shipmates many times over.

His jittery train of thought was interrupted by Captain Picard's voice. "Lieutenant Paris, take us out."

"Aye, sir," he responded automatically. Fingers danced across the console, and the mighty _Sovereign _class starship began to move from her position within the spacedock. He released a breath he hadn't even been aware that he'd been holding – the ship responded to his commands swiftly, a feeling of power and fluid grace to her movements. He relaxed back into his seat. _I could get used to this._

"We are clear of Spacedock, sir," said the android, Data.

"Excellent, Number One. Mister Paris, set a course to the testing site, warp seven." Picard paused for a moment, and Tom quickly punched in the route. "Engage."

* * *

It was, perhaps, inevitable that the prototype Dimensional Drive had been dubbed 'HOP drive,' after some of Lister's stories got around. The souser was good company, and a lot smarter than he generally let on. And it had been information he'd retrieved from StarBug that had been key to working out a method of creating the Drive itself. Amazing what an eccentric AI could come up with over three million years of boredom.

And Geordie LaForge had to admit he found it better than the title the Science committee had hung on the blasted thing. Interdimensional Bridging Propulsion Device. A name devised by committee if he'd ever heard one. The blasted thing that was stuck in _his_ engine room, since the calculations insisted that it needed an all-up warp core for power.

Which begged the question: how had this Ryoga Hibiki in _Voyager_'s reports managed the trick?

Still. All that aside, he was feeling cautiously optimistic about the situation. He _liked_ the idea of being an explorer again. Showing the flag and putting out brushfires was important, especially during a war, but damned if it wasn't boring. It also reminded him that he was slowly losing the battle with age – his dress uniform felt awfully snug lately. And for all he'd prefer it to be on someone _else_'s engine deck, well, he was excited at the idea of breaking in a new method of exploring the universe.

Universe_s,_ he corrected, shaking his head a moment. Hard to get the ol' skull around that one, sometimes.

Still, they were almost to the test site, where they'd rendezvous with the science vessel USS _Copernicus_ and start testing. That would be – he called up the chrono overlay on his ocular implants – another hour and change. He could hardly wait.

* * *

Saotome had changed in the last year and a half. Chrono had only met him briefly, in the aftermath of the Battle of Tokyo, though they'd spoken on the long range comms before then, while he was assisting Nanoha in dealing with the Hibiki incident. His impression, from those meetings and a few reports, was of an idiot savant.

That seemed less and less likely as the evening wore on.

Ranma was on _Claudia_'s bridge at the moment, leaned over one of the sensor displays. Attempting to track Hibiki with a sympathetic tracing spell had given them a general location, leading to a patch of forest a day or so of foot-travel outside of Tokyo. The woods seemed to have some kind of mystic properties – Ranma claimed they were full of giant animals – that made pinning him down more precisely difficult. The martial artist was hunched over one of the sensor displays, having picked up the basics of its use in a few minutes of watching, and was actually being reasonably useful in helping to clarify the signal.

He was sharper than Chrono'd first guessed. He'd expected the young aquatransexual to rubberneck and be distracted by the various tech, or perhaps the view of Earth from orbit. But apart from a brief glance around the bridge when he'd been beamed up, and a short, reverent glance at the orbital view, he'd been all business.

Staff Sergeant Aston, commander of the ship's Marine detachment, stood at the Admiral's side, one hand resting lightly on the Intelligent Device at his belt. He was watching Saotome with frank curiosity.

_Aston, _thought Chrono to his subordinate, _try to remember that he's both a provisional agent and a guest at the moment._

_ Of course, Sir. I'm meaning no disrespect; just the opposite._

_ Fair enough. _His thoughts turned to other business. _Unless we have a breakthrough up here, we'll need to head groundside to finish tracking down Hibiki for our tracing spell. How long to get a team ready?_

_ A few minutes sir, but it's closing in on local dark, isn't it? From what I've overheard from Saotome, Hibiki's persona non grata with most of their mutual friends right now, and he's been in seclusion for a few weeks; he might not react well to unexpected guests. I'd rather not surprise him at night._

_ Persona non grata? Did Saotome say why? _Chrono cursed himself for not listening more closely – Saotome had been chatting non-stop, asking and answering questions, and the admiral had tuned him out.

_Something about an old secret coming out. It brought one Akane down on him like the Wrath itself, and his reaction to that annoyed his current paramour. Something about being angry he still had feelings for this Akane and not just her._

_ I can see that inspiring a man to get away from it all. And leave him on edge._

_ Aye, admiral. The female of the species is far more dangerous than any man. _Aston grimaced. _Though looking at his file, I wouldn't want to pick a fight with this Hibiki on a bet._

_ Too close to a fair fight?_

_ Absolutely. You know how I feel about those. _The two exchanged brief grins.

_ Well, we know he and Saotome are friends. Why don't we get his opinion?_

_ Fair enough, Sir._

Chrono cleared his throat. "Any luck on the tracking?"

Ranma glanced over. "We're getting' it narrowed down, but I think I know where he is. There's a good cave in the chunka forrest he's camped out in, we found it a while back. It's in the general area we've pinned him to."

"Excellent. Would you be able to find this place after dark?"

"Probably, but that forest ain't safe at night. Some nasty critters live there." He glanced at a watch. "Lookin' at the time, I should probably get back anyway. The gang'll be at the Dojo soon for our training."

"Training?" asked Aston.

"Sure. The regular stuff's done, but I still got my own skills ta work on, an' the rest of the gang. Advanced stuff." He shrugged. "Lots to learn, an' not enough time, so I don't like ta waste any of it."

Aston smiled. "I think I like your attitude."

Chrono thought for a moment. _It's not like waiting until local morning is going to be too critical, and it'd be a good gesture... _"Well, in that case, we can pick this up in the morning." He paused, curiosity nagging. "Can I ask what sort of 'advanced stuff' you'll be working on?"

"Ki techniques with the fiancees an' Nabs, magical combat with the Senshi, stuff like that."

"Magical combat? You're not a mage."

Ranma grinned. "Don't mean I can't fight, or help 'em figure stuff out. 'Sides, Dojo's a better practice place than anythin' they've got."

"That sounds interesting," said Aston, smiling broadly. "With the Admiral's permission, I think I'd like a look at some of this."

Chrono glanced from his marine to Ranma, who shrugged. "No objection from me. T' Art's for anyone who can learn."

"In that case, I think I'd be interested as well."

* * *

Once upon a time, Ukyo Kuonji would find the addition of strange mages to their evening sparring/training/general fun time annoying. Especially when one of those mages _radiated_ 'I'm better than all of you.' But the last year or so had cured her of that sort of thing. She blamed the Senshi.

Though she didn't really hold it against them – the Inners especially were nice girls who a) were regular customers, b) liked to share interesting recipes, and c) didn't try to put the moves on her Ran-chan. That last was important. And probably safest for them, magical girls or no. She, Akane, and Shampoo had agreed to something of a ceasefire among themselves, but such courtesy was _not_ extended to any other girls who might try for the man whose heart they fought for.

The evening had started a touch late – Ranma dealing with TSAB business had slowed him down, though she'd have barely been on time anyway. One advantage to her new location being so close to his dojo – lots of hungry people coming by after his late classes. It had been interesting so far. She hadn't gotten to see much of what the TSAB's fighting styles were like – even before they started working with Ranma the Senshi's style was a hybrid, so that was interesting in and of itself. But she also got to watch Admiral Arrogance's growing disbelief as he saw what the Senshi and the martial artists were creating.

Right now, Chrono's assistant/bodyguard was in the ring, sparring with Makoto and giving a good account of himself. He seemed to surrender a fair amount of power to the tall magical girl, but Tomas Aston had decades of experience and was keeping up nicely. Ranma was shouting pointers to both fighters as they roared around the limited space of the dojo, magic and ki flashing. The brown-haired Senshi was the only one of the Inners who could throw around much ki, though even Usagi had picked up the knack a little. Even if, without her magic, the blonde was less powerful than Nabiki.

And the Mercenary Girl with ki powers was still an unnerving and somewhat frightening thought.

Finally, after most of fifteen minutes of hectic combat, Aston held up a hand, laughing. "Bloody hell, that's impressive stuff. Your files' don't do you justice, Miss Kino." He ran a hand through thinning black hair. "Good fighting style you've got going."

Makoto smiled. "Thanks. You're pretty impressive too."

Ranma chimed in, "Not a ton of power, but ya use whatcha got real well. Very impressive."

"Thanks." He shook his head, walked over to a side table and took a pull from one of the water bottles there. "Give me a day to think on it though, missy, an' I'll take you in the rematch."

"Sure you will," said Makoto, smiling as she walked to where the other Senshi sat, exchanged high-fives with Rei.

Ranma stood. "Who'se up next?"

Aston spoke up immediately. "I vote you and the Admiral." Chrono shot him a look.

"Second the motion," said Shampoo. She and Shenhua were both grinning, as if anticipating the coming show. The older Amazon girl was still something of a mystery. She'd apparently been in town during the invasion, and had run into Cologne, who had pressed her into service at the Cat Cafe. For the first few months, she'd been treated little better than Mousse, and none of the other Amazons would say why, beyond 'an issue of honor.' She wasn't in the same skill class as the rest of them, not quite, but she was a quick learner.

Ranma shook his head. "An' as the owner of the building, I'm usin' my veto. I want this place ta still be standin' in the mornin.'"

The marine chuckled. "Spoilsport."

Chrono shot him a look, then said, "As much as I'd be interested in seeing more of this combat style, I'd prefer to see it somewhere with less chances for collateral damage. It's quite impressive."

Ranma shrugged. "It ain't really done yet, we're still workin' on it."

"Does the style have a name?"

Rei said, "Not yet. Ranma's being stubborn."

Chrono raised an eyebrow.

"They wanna give it some frilly girly name. I want to call it somethin' traditional."

"It's a fighting style developed by magical girls for magical girls," said Rei, "And it should be named accordingly."

"I ain't no magical girl," said Ranma. Ukyo smiled, knowing how this argument was about to go.

Ami muttered a word, gestured slightly, and a ball of water popped into existence just above Ranma's head. It splashed down on the suddenly-redhead, who closed her eyes for a moment and tried to hold her temper. "Curses don't count," she said with as much dignity as she could muster.

* * *

The USS _Copernicus _standing by, the _Enterprise_ prepared to test its dimensional drive. All the diagnostics had been completed; all the self-tests run. The region of empty space in which the ship sat had been thoroughly scanned for any anomalies that might affect the testing. The ship was at yellow alert in preparation for the test, with shields at maximum and weapons at standby. The senior officers, as were two of the 'experts' on the Interdimensional Bridging Propulsion Device – Lister and the Borg. He disliked both, though for different reasons.

Jean Luc Picard exhaled slowly. _Time once again to boldly go. _"Engage," he said, tone as close to normal as he could manage through his excitement.

Lieutenant Paris entered the command into his console. "Aye, sir."

The bridge seemed to _shift _slightly, as if everything lept millimeters to the left in an instant. From his station, Commander Data said, "The Interdimensional Bridging Propulsion Device appears to have functioned as planned. _Copernicus_'s tracking signal is no longer detected." There was a pause, and the Android who was his first officer now frowned. "I am detecting two other vessels, sir."

"Identify, Mr. Data." Picard kept his expression neutral. _What happened?_

"They appear to be a _Magellan _class science vessel and a _Sovereign _class starship." A pause as the viewscreen switched to displaying the vessels in question. "The _Sovereign_ is hailing us."

At a loss for another response, Picard said, "On screen."

The main viewer switched to a view of a bridge, almost identical to his own. At the conn was a female human who bore a vague resemblance to Lieutenant Paris. In the center seat was a striking brunette woman. A female klingon stood at the weapons station, mirroring G'rokas on his own bridge. In fact, all but two of the strange ship's bridge crew were female, save for an androgynous looking android at the first officer's station, and a young man at the ops station, mirroring the young woman at his own ops station.

The surprise threw him for a moment, and he only belatedly realized that the other ship's captain was speaking. "This is Captain Jeanette Picard of the Federation Starship _Enterprise,_ to unknown starship. This is a restricted area; state your identity and your reason for being here at once." Then her operations officer quietly got her attention, and he saw her eyes widen with surprise.

Data said, "Captain, their ship's transponder also identifies it as the _USS Enterprise_, NCC 1701-E." The android paused for a moment. "I am unable to explain this phenomenon at this time."

Lister chuckled, then waved at his counterpart on the screen. "'Allo, Deb."

"'Allo, Dave," she replied.

"Looks like none o' yours believed t' story, either."

'Deb' shrugged. "Nah. Just won me twenty quid, though."

Jeanette glared at the female souser. "I believe we need to talk, ma'am."

Picard shot Lister the expression's twin. "We, also." He turned back to the screen. "I am Captain Jean-Luc Picard of the _USS_ _Enterprise._ An _Enterprise _from another universe than your own, I believe. I.. apologize for interrupting your test. If we might take our leave?"

"I believe that would be acceptable." The connection ended.

Picard took a moment to compose himself as he turned towards David Lister, who was trying not to laugh at the nonplussed reactions of the people around him. "Mister Lister, did your reports mention anything about this?"

"Think so, mister Picard. I'd 'ave ta double check."

"Please do so. With dispatch."

Lister nodded, and headed for the turbolift.


	5. Chapter 4

_Disclaimer: I own none of the universes this meanders through and make no claim upon them. This is written entirely for entertainment and to get the bloody plot bunnies out of my head so I can concentrate on other things._

Chapter 4

Even in broad daylight, the forest looked foreboding.

Staff Sergeant Tomas Aston was quite glad they'd decided not to do this after dark. There was a subtle pressure that seemed to prevade the entire area, and it had been getting stronger for the last few minutes, as the closed on what Ranma assured them was Ryoga's position. Saotome was ghosting along, movements smooth and silent, raw skill and grace proving superior to the sound-dampening spells the mages were using. If he'd had any doubts about Ranma's tales of training since the age of five, they were banished now.

The martial artist was looking around with a cautious expression. "Man, Ryoga's up there, all right. An' I ain't seen him in this kinda state in ages."

Aston frowned as he extended his mystic senses. The A+ ranked mage was a combat specialist, not a scryer, but now that he looked, there was a distinct energy pervading the area, heavy and dark. "This his aura we're feeling?"

"Yep. He can draw ki from depression, an' he's _real _depressed right now." Ranma frowned. "You guys might wanna wait here..."

One of the other marines muttered something rude. Ranma shot him a look and ghosted forward.

Aston followed. "Now, what kind of Marines would we be if we let you do all the work, Saotome?" He gestured to his men, heard them fall in.

"Just sayin.' He's dangerous when he's like this."

"So are we," Aston's grin was wide. "It's in the job description, lad."

Ranma smiled lopsidedly. "Heh. I guess I ain't used ta havin' good backup. Still, let me go into the clearin' first – might be able to talk him down."

The marines gave him some room. Clearly guessing the martial artist to be out of earshot, Private Maler muttered, "Stuck up indig prig. Who's he think he is?" Dai shifted his Device to Support Mode, the staff shaping itself into a carbine and goggled headgear forming. He slid the goggles out of his unruly green hair and into place.

"He's the fellow we've been ordered to follow for this, Dai. Ours not to reason why."

"Sergeant, he's not even a mage. I know his file _says_ he's equivalent to a B rank, but most of us are Bs or better." Dai sneered. "You could probably take him with both hands behind your back. Same with his buddy."

"Admiral said to play nice. We're playing nice. Now shut up and keep moving." Dai muttered something uncharitable. "And private? Something else to keep in mind. The TSAB Agent who decided to recruit Saotome? Was the White Devil. Remember that before you decide to dismiss him as worthless."

Nearing a clearing at the base of some hills, Ranma shifted from ghosting into a more relaxed walk, deliberately making some noise. "Yo! Ryoga, you there?"

From the clearing came a responding, ragged shout. "Ranma? What do _you_ want? Come to torment me further?"

_He's twitchier than I expected. You might not wanna pop out, _thought Ranma to Aston, who sent out telepathic orders to his men. He had an uneasy feeling, well honed instincts telling him that it was about to drop in the pot. The marines slowed, stopping short of the edge of the clearing. He saw Hibiki walking from a cave. The martial artist looked disheveled and ragged, a manic look in his eyes.

Ranma spoke without missing a beat. "Remember that thing with you dimension hopping?"

"Hard to forget it."

"Someone's makin' a mess out in space, an' he's settin' it up to make it look like it's yer fault. Wanna go kick his head in?"

Hibiki's gaze narrowed dangerously. "Are you blaming me for another of your problems, Ranma?"

"Nah, I know it ain't you – yer here, ain'tcha? Wanted ta get ya in on takin' the guy out, is all." Ranma spoke telepathically to Aston, _Ain't seen him this bad inna long time, gonna try to talk him down but this is probably gonna get ugly. Lookin' at him, I doubt he's slept in a couple days, an he don't sound like he's thinkin' straight._

_ We've got your back if he starts something, Saotome._

Ryoga looked wary. "How do I know this isn't some trick, Ranma? You've spent years trying to destroy my life." His eyes narrowed and took on a manic gleam. "Because of you, Akane hates me! Because of you, so does Akari!" He began to advance, fists clenched.

Ranma circled to the right, trying to keep the distance between himself and Ryoga open. "Not my fault, bacon breath. I ain't the one magic'd up the water-"

"But it was aimed at you! I got hit because you dodged! And how DARE you try to blame the Senshi for your own twisted cruelty? You have no honor! DIE!" Then the enraged martial artist charged, with a speed that Aston knew he couldn't match, even with the best speed-boosting spells he knew.

And with a speed that made_ that_ look average, Ranma met him halfway. For a long moment, the Marines could only watch in silent surprise as the two martial artists dueled, moving impossibly fast, darting all over the clearing as a pair of blurs – one red-and-black, the other yellow-and-brown. Stray punches shattered rocks and trees, and the marines collectively slipped back a little deeper into their cover.

_Oh, ya, I ain't seen him like _this_ in a while. You got anythin' ta lock him down?_

_ If you can make him sit still for a few seconds. And get a little separation so we don't catch you in it._

_ Done._

Ranma shot straight up, with something that felt like a pressure wave blasting out beneath him. Blue-white energy gathered in his palms and shot downward. Ryoga dodged the blast and it carved a furrow in the ground, blowing small chunks out of the rock as Ranma's ascent caused it to drift to the base of the hills.

The two fighters raced through the air; the distance between them opening but their speed, if anything, increasing.

"Damn," said Maler in a tone of sudden respect, pushing his goggles up as he watched them fly.

"Still think he's a worthless indig prig?"

"No, Sergeant," said Maler with exaggerated patience, "I _think_ the files on both of them need updating. Badly."

"Yep. Knew that since yesterday." _Ranma, impressive as this is, it's not making it easier for us to lock him down._

_ Just tryin' ta set it up without hurtin' him too bad. One second._

Ranma suddenly reached through the fanged boy's defenses and got both hands around one of his arms. A twist, and Ryoga was flying earthward, off balance.

Blasting around in midair didn't give one the best of leverage for a throw – Ranma hadn't gotten so much momentum on Ryoga's flight that the other martial artist's flight would only end in the earth. Ryoga got his feet under himself and stopped his descent, a wave of force seeming to push down from his feet like the exhaust from a reaction drive. He had beaten gravity about five feet off the ground, and was about to start back up. This had the side effect of holding him effectively stationary for about half a second, in which moment ten magical binds snapped into existence around his arms and legs.

Ryoga jerked to a halt, started to thrash, but the binds pulled his limbs to full extension. He struggled against them for a moment, then slumped, glaring and growling. "Damn you Ranma. You make my life hell, and you're probably going to do the same to these people."

The pig-tailed martial artist landed next to Aston. "Ryoga, we need yer help. Didn't want ta do it this way."

"It's just so unfair," said Ryoga with a wracking sob.

"That guy has serious issues," said Maler.

Ranma snorted. "P-chan here has entire _subscriptions._"

Ryoga's voice came out as a scream. "_It's just so unfair! Shi Shi Hoko-"_

Ranma blurred towards the suspended martial artist, making quick, precise strikes to a few points on his torso. Hibiki slumped against his restraints, unconscious.

"Nice trick," said Aston.

"Thanks. He's gonna be mad when he comes to, though."

"We can deal with that." Aston sent his thoughts to the ship. _Marines to _Claudia_, we've got the package. Request extraction._

_

* * *

_

Ryoga lay on a bed in _Claudia_'s medical suite, sedated but still twitching in his sleep. Ranma looked at his friend and rival with a troubled expression. "He gonna be okay, doc?"

The ship's doctor glanced over. "Eventually, he should be. From what I can tell he hadn't slept in several days prior to this, which is probably why he reacted so... extremely. I'll be keeping him sedated for the next twenty-four hours or so, which should give him enough rest."

Ranma nodded. "Thanks, doc. Anything I can do to help?"

"I don't think so, but thank you."

Ranma left the medical suite, thinking hard. _Didn't think he would get so bad, anymore. Wish I could do more..._

Without warning, the Admiral made contact with him. _Agent Saotome, please report to the bridge._

_ Gotcha, boss. On my way._ He'd deal with Ryoga later. There were bigger concerns afoot.

* * *

Seven of Nine worked quietly in _Enterprise_'s science lab.

She and the Android, Data, had been working for hours, collating information and scans gathered by both _Enterprise_ and _Copernicus. _They worked in silence, neither feeling the need for any kind of small talk. She appreciated that, especially since she was reasonably sure it was out of a genuine desire to concentrate on their work and not yet another iteration of 'shun the Borg! SHUN!'

She understood that attitude, in all honesty. She knew what the Borg had done to the Federation, in greater detail than anyone else aboard the _Enterprise_ save perhaps her Captain. She _got it_, when they glared at her. Since returning from the Delta quadrant, she had had any number of unpleasant encounters, and had observed that for all they were 'terrorists, thugs, and self-glorifying thieves,' many of the Maquis she had worked with on _Voyager _seemed rather more forgiving and open-minded than the Starfleet personnel she worked with now.

Oh, some of them at least tried, but for the most part her best-case scenario was cold professionalism. Unsure of how to deal with such reactions, she had retreated back into her shell somewhat – which annoyed her, as she understood that it was not an ideal response. She had, at the suggestion of one of her fellow scientists, sought help from counselors. They had varied greatly in approach and quality. She frowned at the memory of one who had so innocently suggested that she try to assume her old human identity again.

That was simply... unworkable. She had been Seven of Nine since she was six years old; and had very few memories of Annika Hansen. Not enough to use as the foundation of a life. She found the idea... frightening in a way she could not adequately quantify.

She shook herself, returned her attention to the scan results. Now was not the time to attempt to sort out her personal life and issues. She made a mental note to schedule an appointment with Counselor Tigan later.

Having another starship, especially one with the sensor capacity of a _Magellan-_class science vessel, standing by when they jumped was utterly invaluable. Between their data and that _Enterprise_'s own sensors had collected, they had a strong font of data from which to draw some initial conclusions. She would have to confer with Commander Data, of course, and compare their conclusions with those of _Copernicus_' analysts, but she felt that at least two points would be born out:

1)The Interdimensional Bridging Propulsion Device undoubtedly worked. It would simply be a matter of plotting one's course more accurately.

2)It seemed to create lesser subspace anomalies and radiation bursts than their travels with Ryoga Hibiki had, despite the significantly greater mass of a _Sovereign_-class starship compared to an _Intrepid_-class starship.

She was not yet sure what all this would, in the end, _mean_, but she was eager to find out. It was quite pleasant to have a project to work on again.

* * *

"What's up, Admiral?" asked Ranma as she walked onto the bridge, twisting water out of her red pony tail.

"What happened to you?"

Ranma scowled. "Somebody came around the corner an' walked inta me, spilled his drink." A shrug. "I suppose it hadda happen sooner or later. The water always finds me."

"Well. We'll be breaking orbit shortly; another anomaly has been detected and we need to start running them down."

"These are doing the kinda damage Ryoga was the last time 'round?"

"Yes, or perhaps more. These anomalies are a lot more complicated and there seems to be more raw energy going into their creation."

"Goodie. Got a plan ta wreck the guys responsible?"

"We'll certainly be having a talk with them. If it's going to involve 'wrecking' anything remains to be seen."

Ranma nodded slowly, appearing to be thinking hard. "Think the Bradesons are involved?"

"Not in the anomalies, but they're almost certainly going to be tracking the things down."

"Got room for one more?"

"Excuse me?"

Ranma cracked her knuckles. "If you're gonna be dealing with the Bradies I want in. I wanna _chat_ with 'em about attackin' my home."

"Agent Saotome, depending on what we find a fight with them might be best avoided. This could be a new player on the interdimensional scene. We honestly don't know what we're dealing with."

The martial artist nodded slowly again, lost in thought. "Okay, I c'n see whatcha mean..." She sighed. "Yeah, okay. Guess I should probably head back t' the med bay. Ryouga should have a friendly face to wake up to."

"Despite the fact that he attacked you without warning or provocation in the forest?" Chrono suspected he already knew how Ranma would answer, but he thought the answer would doubtless be enlightening.

Ranma paused, and looked back over he shoulder. "I don't got many friends, Admiral." Then she continued off the bridge.

* * *

Flight Officer Benjamin "Bloodhound" Jones pulled his _Ferret_ class Patrol Fighter through a long, lazy turn, its sensors banging away on full actives. While those sensors being active would improve his odds of actually spotting the sensor ghost he was trying to hunt down – assuming it _was_ anything other than a damned sensor ghost – it was more or less the equivalent of hanging a large 'KICK ME' sign off the back of his fighter. He took some small comfort from the fact that while the list of fighters and starships that could easily kill a _Ferret_ was long, very few things on it could outrun one.

On his wing, in loose formation, flew Leeroy "Kingfisher" Maxwell. Kingfisher's _Ferret_ was also banging away with its actives. Neither recon pilot was terribly happy with the situation, though between them they'd probably spot anything trying to sneak up on them.

The comm crackled. _"Concordia to Bloodhound – any luck running down that signal?"_

He thumbed the comm. "Bloodhound to Concordia, nothing yet. I keep getting a ping, but it's faint." He shook his head, though he knew his listener couldn't see the gesture. "I got no idea what this is, if it's not just a sensor ghost."

There was a delay. _"Concordia to Bloodhound – be advised; this signal may be a Kilrathi Stealth Fighter. We will dispatch a wing pair from the CSP to your position to assist. Remain on station. Concordia out."_

_ Stealths. Fuck. Maverick's damned old wives' tale come to life._ Bloodhound sat back in his cockpit, let out a breath. He'd much prefered the Stealths when they'd been some nonexistant phantom to needle Colonel Blair about. The things were damn scarey in the real world. _Well, if nothing else, a couple other ships might help run this ghost down, or prove it ain't there... more ships for triangulation ought to help._

He thumbed the comm once more. "Kingfisher, you catch that?"

_"Yeah. Backup is good, especially with us sitting with our asses hanging out. We gonna stay on course or hold in place?"_

"Stay on course, but let's not hurry. Gotta wait for the slowboats." The two recon fighters dropped below cruising speed as both pilots kept a close watch on their surrounds. The more he thought about it, the more Bloodhound suspected they were chasing a ghost. They were on the fringes of the Enigma sector, and that place was well named. He hoped Thrakhath choked on it as he tried to pacify the place.

Idly, he looked at the stars, eyes not searching for anything in particular, just marking the time while he waited for the CAP or a ping on the ol' sensor board. Looking to port, he caught sight of movement out of the corner of his eye, and instinctively looked closer.

He couldn't quite make out its shape – his eyes didn't want to focus on it somehow – but there was _something _ there, obscuring the starfield. For a moment, he stared, uncomprehending, until a memory twigged.

He hit the comm. In a carefully neutral tone he said, "Kingfisher, I think I spotted our bogey. There's something blocking the starlight at my seven o'clock position." He took a breath, fighting to stay calm as he felt his neck dampen with cold sweat. If that really was a Stealth, panicking would get him killed messily. "Can you drop back from me a bit and take a look-see?"

_"Flying casual, mark-one eyeballs on the job and one hand ready to firewall the throttle. Hope like hell you're wrong, boss."_

"That makes two of us." _Where the hell is our backup?_ He thumbed over the comm again. "Bloodhound to _Concordia_, I have a possible contact – any ETA for our backup?"

_"Concordia to Bloodhound, two Sabers outbound to you now, ETA three minutes."_

"Rodger that, _Concordia._ Bloodhound out." His own hand drifted over to the throttle. Three minutes. If they could bluff this Cat for another three minutes, they'd have him dead to rights.

_"Bloodhound, I'm looking, but I'm not seeing anything. An' the last sign of our ghost on my __sensor board would be off to starboard."_

Jones let out a breath. _Must be nerves. Shit, I need to get landed and hit the O-club._ "Thanks for looking, Kingfisher. Let's just keep-."

Suddenly, the sensor board _ping_ed and he jumped in his seat. Swearing under his breath he looked it over – a definite contact below and to starboard. "Kingfisher, you just get something?"

_"Yeah, boss. The gods are just messing with us now. Contact to starboard – move in?"_

"Yep. Get on my wing, I'll lead."

The two recon fighters accelerated to full speed as they swooped towards the contact, both pilots alert and cautious. By old habit, Kingfisher sideslipped away from Bloodhound, opening up the two-fighter formation a little. Soon enough, the contact was in visual range.

They still didn't know what it was – their sensors couldn't say anything about it save that it was _there_ – but as it came into view, it seemed less like a ship than some kind of creature.

The comm crackled. _"Bloodhound, does that thing look like a giant squid to you, or am I losing it?"_

"If you're losing it, so am I. Hang tight- I'm going for a closer look." He punched the afterburners for a moment, closing on the... thing.

_It's a squid,_ he thought as the distance closed. The main body roughly twenty meters long, tentacles trailing half again as far behind it, the entire thing moving with a serpentine motion that was so utterly organic it simply _couldn't_ be a ship. He manually triggered his gun cameras, capturing as much data as he could by sheer rote, as his mind did not, _could_ not accept that it was actually seeing a living creature floating in the void.

Then it seemed to notice him. It whirled towards the _Ferret_, exposing some inhuman face, eyes glittering in the distant starlight. And then it opened its beak and loosed an impossible _scream_ that he heard despite the vacuum.

Bloodhound swore, instinctively rolling the _Ferret_ away from the creature and kicking in full afterburners, clawing desperately for distance. It triggered some deep-seated, primal fear in him; he didn't want to stay near that thing for a second longer than he had to. Vaguely, he was aware of Kingfisher calling him, the ping of his sensor board as the creature closed. Involuntarily, his eyes were drawn to the aft camera, and he saw the creature extend four tentacles towards him, held as if in pairs, and saw lightning begin to crackle between them like some massive Jacob's Ladder.

And then there was a flash, and blackness.

* * *

Christopher "Maverick" Blair's eyes widened as his _Sabre_ approached the last known co-ordinates of the two recon fighters. Kingfisher's last transmission had been a panicked jumble that ended in a none-too-reassuring _crack_ and a rush of air, a minute and a half ago. His wingman, Hobbes, was just behind him, tucked in tight, and though the commline was closed, he could almost hear the Kilrathi swear at the sight.

Something that looked like a nightmarish parody of a squid was wrapped around one of the _Ferret_s, a beak crunching into the fuselage just aft of the shattered ruin of the cockpit. In the distance, the front half of another _Ferret_ drifted, tumbling slowly. He flicked on the gun cameras, trying to get a decent look at the thing. It seemed... absorbed... by what it was doing and didn't react until he and Hobbes had closed to short range, then it unwrapped itself from the remains of the _Ferret_. It jetted towards them, and loosed some impossible roar of challenge that started Blair's heart pounding.

Over the comm, Hobbes roared a challenge of his own in Kilrathi, goosing his throttle and opening up with his guns. A volley of mass driver shot severed a tentacle, and the roar of challenge became one of pain, still somehow being heard despite the hard vacuum. Blair shook himself, opened up with his own guns. The creature raised its remaining arms in pairs, and energy began to crackle between them.

Then Hobbes hit it in the eye with a dumbfire missile. Flesh and viscera fountained from the blast, and the creature's scream died abruptly.

For a long moment, all Blair could hear was the pounding of his heart and his breath in his mask. Finally, he calmed himself, and somewhat shakily, opened his comms. "Maverick to _Concordia_, we've reached the last known position of the recon flight. You're not going to believe this..."

* * *

Captain Garik "Face" Loran smiled as his X-wing settled on _Mon Remonda_'s flight deck and he saw the welcoming committee waiting for him and his squadron. Locking down his engines, he popped the canopy and bounded down to the deck, eliciting a disapproving frown from the ground crew who'd been bringing over a ladder. "Wedge!" he shouted with a grin as he walked up to his former commander. "Been too long."

They shook hands. "Way too long, Face. I'll admit I'm a bit surprised to see you, didn't think Cracken would let the Wraiths get out from where he could see them."

"He thinks we'll behave ourselves."

"He must be slipping." The rest of the Wraiths joined them, and more handshakes and greetings were exchanged. "Well, I suppose you people are my problem now, so let's head down to pilot country and get you settled." As they walked, Wedge and Face took the lead. In low tones, he asked his former subordinate, "Can you tell me what's going on?"

"Heard about the latest Imp raids?"

"With the impossible Interdictors? Yeah. They transfered us here instead of to Ando to go looking for the things."

"Cracken wants us in the field to help look into things, I think. Not totally sure what he's planning – I still mostly get the fungus treatment when it comes to assignments."

"You'd think he'd tell his spooks what he wants them to do."

Face feigned outrage. "Spooks? _Spooks?_ Us? Wedge, you wound me. Spook is such an ugly term."

"Accurate, though."

The actor turned fighter pilot/spy grinned ruefully. "Well sure, but we like to pretend otherwise. We're way too happy to be proper spies."

In lower tones, Wedge asked, "And what about those rumors about the new Imp boss?"

Face looked away. "Wedge, you know I can't talk about that kind of thing."

"Sorry. Didn't mean to put you on the spot. I just keep thinking about how the last few weeks went down, and that thermal detonator of news Captain Solo dropped on the Senate... it makes too much sense. Scarey sense."

"I know what you mean, Wedge. Look, I can't say anything, even if I _did_ know anything definite... but Solo's source has a rep for being reliable when it comes to info."

"Great. Interesting days ahead."

"Always."

* * *

Admiral Geoffery Tolwyn looked up from his desk at the sound of a knock at the door to his office. Very few people on _Concordia_ could just walk in. Even fewer would do so – his subordinates knew he did _not_ appreciate it. The man at the door, unfortunately, wasn't one of them.

"Colonel Taggart. What brings you here, unannounced?"

Colonel James Taggart, formerly a fighter pilot who went by Paladin, now a Special Operations field agent, took the statement as an invitation to enter. "Some interesting developments today, Admiral. 'Ave ye seen the reports about that thing Hobbes killed?"

"The preliminaries, though the complete report hasn't been filed yet so far as I know. I assume you think this is Special Operations business?"

Taggart's affected accent vanished as he became serious. "An unknown hostile that attacked one of our ships on sight seems like the sort of thing I ought to look into, yes." He paused. "Talking down in pilot country, the recon squadron's canvased the area where Bloodhound and Kingfisher were attacked. They found something that reads like a jump point."

"I know. I assume you'll be taking the _Bonnie Heather_ and investigating further?"

"Something like that, yes."

"I suppose you'll want to borrow a few pilots and fighters to take along?" Tolwyn felt himself quirk a smile. "Take Maniac. You don't even have to give him back."

Taggart returned the smile for a moment, then pulled a datapad from his pocket. "As to that, I had something more... ambitious in mind." He handed the datapad to the Admiral. "As per the Special Operations emergency procurement regulations, I'd like to requisition _Concordia_ herself for this."

"You _wouldn't_." Tolwyn's eyes narrowed dangerously.

"Admiral, I've been in this business almost as long as you. This feels like the kind of danger that needs to be dealt with, and quickly. I can't deal with it with a Q-ship and a handful of fighters."

"But the situation in Enigma sector-"

"Will wait. It's going to be months before the Confederation can put together enough of a force to kick the Cats out of there, and about as long before they can continue their advance. This anomaly, whatever it is, has the feel of something that will get more dangerous the longer we wait before dealing with it. I want to nip this in the bud, before it becomes another threat to the very existence of the Confederation."

Geoffery Tolwyn let out a slow breath and sagged in his chair. _At last, he hits on the crux of the thing. And you know it, Geoff. _"Damn it all," he sighed. "I see what you mean. And given Special Operation's authority in these matters, I suppose I've no choice. Though I'll admit, it'll be nice to be _acting_ on a problem and not just _re_acting to it." He paused a moment, then finished. "Given the current strategic situation, I'll be adding my objections to the ship's log."

"Of course." Taggart quirked a smile of his own. "And don't worry, we'll send Maniac through the jump point first, to see if it's safe."

* * *

Captain Joffery Hoss was waiting for the hammer to drop.

It had been a long time since _anything_ had gone right for him. He'd gotten what was left of the Expeditionary Force back to friendly territory and managed, somehow, to get keep everything together amid the fractured chain of command and utterly shattered morale. Kallson had been a well liked, well respected flag officer, and the reaction to his horrifying actions after calling a retreat had rocked the fleet almost as much as their losses.

The debriefing had gone poorly even before they covered the final phase of the battle and subsequent retreat. The officer in charge of the debriefing, Admiral Dominic Agrale, put a gag order on the information at first, trying to keep the lid on things until he could confer with more of his fellow Admirals. Orbital bombardment was a tactic that hadn't been used in generations, not since the Five Sided War and the destruction of Dantulen, Sorosa and the partial destruction of Sirosa. It was still utterly hated by military and civilian thinkers alike, and with ample justification. Hoss had appreciated Agrale's willingness to give him the benefit of the doubt – that he honestly _hadn't_ known Kallson intended to do what he'd done.

The gag order had worked for less than a day. The news spread and found its way to the media, and it had escalated almost instantly. They wanted blood. And with the man who'd committed the crime dead, they weren't terribly discriminating about _whose_ blood they got. Hoss had thrown himself into the path of the investigation, trying to shield his subordinates. They were no more guilty than he was himself, but it was the least he could do. General Jiiral had done the same for his own men.

They'd lost their ranks, they'd lost their commands. Hoss' wife had left him, her lawyer skinning him alive and salting the wounds, though the simple fact that he would likely never see his sons again had hurt more than the loss of everything else. The simple fact that he was personally innocent of anything other than being unable to win a battle that was, at that point, manifestly unwinable, had kept him in the service despite the cries and screams of the mob and the Opposition. He'd lost the _Admiral Veer_ and had spent the bulk of the last year and a half on antipiracy duty in the farthest reaches of the Republic, thrown aside in the hopes that he would be forgotten.

There'd been a few nights, just after the divorce and the court martial, where he'd very nearly ended it all. He was still alive, now, because too many people had died keeping him alive in the tail end of that battle, and others in the past. It would be a disservice to their memories to take the coward's way out. He'd soldiered on, done the best he could to protect the frontier, and serve out his sentence to somewhere Out Of Sight Of The Media.

So when a summons to the capitol had reached him three weeks ago, he had been understandably unnerved. In general, it was a Bad Thing when the mighty noticed someone like him. He suspected that he was going to be thrown to the jackwolves once more for the sake of the service. And while he didn't much like that idea, if it would help the service as a whole he couldn't complain too bitterly. And so here he sat, in his Dress Blacks, outside the office of Admiral Gumthrun Husaberg, wondering what in the ice hells was about to happen to him.

It was almost a relief when the Admiral's secretary looked up from her dataslate and said, "The Admiral will see you now, sir."

Self-consciously, he smoothed his uniform as he nodded to the secretary and walked to the doorway. Forcing himself to at least appear calm, he entered and snapped a crisp salute. "Captain Joffery Hoss, reporting as ordered, Sir."

The Admiral saluted in response – not the quick, perfunctory sketch of a salute he'd expected, but the sort he'd give to another flag officer. Hoss blinked, knew his jaw was dropping, couldn't stop himself. "Captain Hoss. Welcome. I've been reading your reports, and I'm impressed with your recent efforts. You're doing a fine job out on the frontier. A _damn_ fine job."

"Ah, thank you sir." _Merciful Goddess,_ he thought, _of all the things I expected to hear..._

Husaberg seemed to recognize his confusion. "I'm telling you this for a few reasons, Captain. First, because contrary to popular belief, we actually give a tinker's damn about the safety and security of the frontier. And second, because you got thrown to the jackwolves after the Earth incident for the least palatable of all reasons." He paused, expression and tone turning ugly. "Political expedience."

"Ah, I'm not sure how to respond to that, sir."

Husaberg's expression softened. "Captain, I am in a position to help correct what I see as an injustice. I need a volunteer for a sensitive and possibly dangerous mission. Looking past everything else, you demonstrated an ability to think under pressure and react to the unexpected when you lead that extraction. Those qualities are nowhere near as common in our officer corps as we'd like to think."

By now, Hoss' brain had begun to operate again. "What sort of mission do you have in mind, sir?"

"We've been detecting anomalies that imply a new power emerging on the interdimensional stage. Our people are still trying to trace them back to their source, and it's been decided to put together a proper task force for the job rather than having individual ships look around scattershot. You've demonstrated the attributes we need in a field commander for this kind of mission, and frankly, what happened to you was a travesty."

"This is a second chance, sir?"

"Absolutely. I think you deserve one. The way you tried to shield the rest of the Expeditionary Force alone merits the chance." He gave a thin smile. "It's a poor apology after what's been done to you, but it's the best I can do. Just don't screw up."

"I've no intention of doing so, sir. When do I leave?"

"Tomorrow, at 0600 hours. Proper orders and a full briefing package will be in your private message queue within the hour." He pulled open a drawer in his desk, pulled out a small box. "You'll need these, Commodore Hoss."

Joffery Hoss opened the box, saw the circled starburst of his new rank. Not the paired stars he used to wear, but closer than he'd ever thought he'd see again. Voice slightly husky, he pocketed the box and said, "Thank you sir. This is an honour." He saluted sharply.

Husaberg returned it. "The honour is mine. Do us proud."


	6. Chapter 5

_Disclaimer: I still don't own these series. Which is probably for the best._

Chapter 5

"Engineering reports that the Interdimensional Bridging Propulsion Device, is ready for our next test, and the dimensional co-ordinates are set," said Commander Data from his station on the bridge. Though their mission had been largely uneventful thus far, he found it intriguing. The crew of the _Enterprise_ had changed greatly over the last few months, since their temporal displacement and intervention in the Cochran Warp Test. Data had been, perversely, pleasantly surprised when he realized the absence of so many old friends and familiar faces was saddening him – a sign that his emotion chip was capable of far greater subtleties than he'd first thought. Though he hoped to avoid, in the future, the sorrow of absent companions. An enriched understanding of the human experience seemed... less satisfying, overall, than living without that sadness.

Still. New faces meant new experiences. He had not yet had time to interact with all of the newcomers, but for the most part they seemed, to use the human idiom, to have the 'right stuff.' Commander G'rokas in particular was intriguing. A look at aspects of Klingon behavior and culture his previous interactions with Klingons had not shown him. An especially great contrast to Worf.

The android realized with something approaching guilt that he had allowed himself to become distracted from his task for 562.1 milliseconds. He returned his attention to the status board at his station, saw that it had updated. "_Copernicus _reports it is ready for us to proceed."

"Very well," said Captain Picard, tone even. "Mister Paris, engage."

"Aye, Sir." The irreverent but highly competent officer punched in the relevant command, and the bridge seemed to shift sideways in a blur of pesudomotion. The sensation was slightly but distinctly different than the previous jumps to and from the universe seeming populated by their distaff counterparts.

"Status report," said Picard moments later.

"The drive reports its status as nominal," said Seven of Nine from the science station.

"Helm is responsive, Impulse is online, warp drive is... now." said Paris.

Data glanced up from his console. "I am detecting no other vessels in this vicinity."

From the tactical station, G'rokas rumbled, "I concur, no other vessels in this vicinity. All weapons and targeting systems show as ready."

"Understood," said Picard with a hint of a smile. "Begin a survey of the system. Once that is complete, we will be returning to our home universe."

* * *

Ranma fiddled with the collar on his uniform and ran his mental checklist to make sure he hadn't forgotten anything important, something he'd need to take care of before shipping off to kamis-knew-where to help keep Ryoga under control and if needed break heads with the marines. Called the fiancees and the Senshi to fill them in on the situation, check. Called the JSDF to let them know he'd be offworld for a few weeks so classes were canceled, check. Get reminded by his bosses in the JSDF to do nothing to dishonor the Service and to keep Japan's interests foremost in his mind while away, check. Lock all the windows and activate all the wards the Senshi had created to thief-proof the place, check. Ranma figured it was a toss-up if those precautions would prevent, say, his old man from inviting himself in while he was away, but it was worth a shot. Sign up in the window that the place was closed for a few weeks, check. Clothes packed – an extra of his regular uniform, the even less comfortable dress uniform just in case he wound up needing it, some casual and workout clothes, sundry underthings and toiletries – check. Convinced one of his friends to write down any homework assignments if he was still gone when school resumed – check. _That covers everything_, he thought. Shouldering his pack, he locked up and headed for the embassy.

He didn't like the uniform much, it was a little too restrictive to move in for his tastes, even after Kasumi tailored it for him. She'd done some work on the dress uniform, too – since no matter what he did, he almost inevitably managed to run afoul of cold water, she'd modified the dress uniform to at least look like it fit him properly in either form. But still, he'd let himself be convinced to work with the JSDF, and the uniform was part of the deal. He might not get in trouble if he skipped wearing it, but he'd jump through the hoops. He'd said he would, after all, and he had gotten into the habit of keeping his word, if only as a way to be unlike his father.

Ucchan's was doing brisk business – some odd quirk of circumstance had put her new restaurant location in a spot that saw a lot of foot traffic most mornings, so she'd had to hire a few extra staff – good as Konatsu was, he couldn't be in two places at once indefinitely, his duplicating body technique burned way too much ki. He briefly considered dropping in for a bite before he went, but thought better of it. He had to make it to the embassy soon, and a stop at her restaurant would take more time than he could really afford. Thinking of time, he looked at his watch. Less than he'd really like for the train.

_Not like that's a problem, really._ He shifted the pack on his back slightly, made sure his uniform cap was on securely, and lept for the nearest rooftop. He didn't go for all-out flight across the city – unidentified flying objects tended to alarm the Powers That Be these days – but roofhopping kept him low enough to avoid tripping any alarms most days, and was less tiring than full on flight.

Other than startling a few folks on the train – he'd seen one guy's eyes go very wide as he lept over them – the trip was without incident, which put it in the 'great' category as for as he was concerned – and reached the embassy with some time to spare. He was expected, the Mid-Childan native at the front desk just waved him to the back. Ranma walked back to the teleport room. A week or so of pig-wrangling and possibly other feats of derring-do as they tracked down some newcomer to the interdimensional scene. His life never lacked for interesting things to do.

* * *

_I'm still a little amazed someone at Headquarters actually thought this through_, thought Tom Paris as he maneuvered the _River_-class Runabout USS _Fraser_ through the unnamed star systems' asteroid belt. It was one of two Runabouts that had been sent along with _Enterprise_ for this excursion, working its way to the outer system in a spinward spiral as her sister ship, the _Shuswap, _was covering things in an anti-spinward spiral. _Enterprise_ herself was doing a more in-depth survey of the inner system, checking the two planets vaguely in the temperate zone in case either supported life.

Weather they did or not, nobody had shot at them yet, so any natives would likely be pre-spacefaring. Tom suspected that neither world would have much in the way of critters. The system they were in was almost a mirror of the one they'd jumped from. The planet's orbitals were within a few thousand kilometers of being identical, though the planets themselves were a little further along their orbital paths than the system they'd come from. Background radiation was a little lower, and they weren't detecting any subspace transmissions or carriers, which suggested that whoever or whatever the local polities were, they used something else for their long-range comms.

It was, Tom decided, damned eerie.

The runabout's cabin was quiet – his passengers were a young, unjoined Trill from the science department, and Seven. He hadn't expected much in the way of small talk from Seven, of course, but the Trill was a bit of a surprise – in his experience they were chatty folks. Still, at least the guy wasn't putting off the aura of barely suppressed anger around Seven that Tom had seen in many others. He wasn't really friends with the former Borg, but she was a shipmate, and she'd saved _Voyager's_ collective bacon more times than he really cared to remember. She'd tried to learn to be human, and the effort counted for a lot. It irked him, some, that, after she'd gone through everything and proven herself to the crew, that so many of Starfleet's 'best and brightest' were giving her a hard time. They were supposed to be better than that.

He couldn't take the silence. "Anything interesting so far?" he asked from the pilot's console.

For a moment there was silence, as the two scientists waited for the other to answer. After a moment Ensign Cet spoke up. "I suppose it depends on your definition of interesting. From what I can tell, this system is a near-exact match to the one we came from. Number of planetary bodies, approximate mass and composition, orbits... The biggest difference I've seen is that the distribution of debris in the asteroid belt seems to be a little looser, though with individual rocks being larger. Other than that, it's a match for the system when Starfleet first charted it, before we moved some repeater stations and the like in."

"Creepily like the Mirror Universe."

He could almost hear Cet's smile. "Not enough people shooting at us for that, from what I've heard of the place."

Tom chuckled. "There is that. Made crossing the Bajoran system more than a little dicey." _And a few others._ His memory flitted to the other battles they'd faced along the way, the satisfaction of nailing Seska, or a reasonable facsimile thereof, the bitter pain of the fight against K'Ehleyr... Even before they got to the Mirror Universe they'd had some interesting run-ins. He still had the occasional nightmare about that hellcrab thing that had come dangerously close to carving _Voyager _in two.

He could definately hear the smile in the Trill's voice now. "Still, you made it home despite everything. I'm _just _superstitious enough to figure that's a good thing for _this_ trip."

Seven finally spoke. "It certainly cannot hurt our chances. As for this system, I concur with Ensign Cet – if it were not largely identical to the system we came from, beyond any rational odds, I could consider it utterly unremarkable."

"Who knows?" began Tom lightly, oddly pleased that he'd drawn Seven out of her shell, at least a little. "We might find something _really _interesting in the outer system; we've still got a decent chunk of space to cover here."

All that had been needed was someone to break the ice, it seemed – the small talk was inconsequential, and frequently delved into shop-talk, but it made the atmosphere in the little runabout far more comfortable. The rest of the survey run didn't feel so long after all, and Tom picked up a few useful tidbits about sensors that he filed under 'might need this someday but I hope not.' The landing was a bit tricky – a _Sovereign_'s shuttle bay wasn't really built for something the size of a Runabout, much less two of them, but he managed. This was a good way to start their trip.

* * *

Chrono absently rubbed his jaw as _Claudia_ left Earth's space and prepared to begin its search. He suspected things were going to get more complicated than he'd prepared for. He still felt that bringing Ranma along was probably a good idea – a gut call, but one backed by his experiences through the years. He'd not expected the martial artist to show up in uniform. He'd expected even less for Ranma to be familiar with the terms of the treaties between the TSAB and its various protectorates, Earth in particular. The look on his face as he casually suggested that 'if we do run inta the Braddies, I c'n do the 'representing the protectorate's interests' thing at the negotiation table'. The standard practice in the Bureau was to appoint someone on your staff to represent a protectorate in cases like this – as Bureau personnel were generally better at remembering the 'big picture' than citizens of a single world... but by the letter of the rules Saotome was certainly able to take the position.

And, hells, why not? Chrono strongly suspected that his superiors had misjudged Earth severely. It irked him, but there was only so much influence he could have with the rest of the Admiralty. If they insisted on treating Earth like something less capable than it was, there was little he could do directly... but he could try to give a better impression than some of them. Letting Ranma have a say would cost him little, and probably be a net gain in the long run.

It was also worth considering that Saotome could be an excellent training asset to the Bureau. From what little Chrono had seen himself, and read in the Marine's reports, he was quite powerful, and extremely capable. A genius at fighting, and he seemed to be an able teacher. Making a good impression now could be parleyed into convincing him to come to Mid-Childa and train their people directly. He was rather curious about what Ranma could come up with working with the Ace of Aces, given what he'd done with some of her trainees.

He'd have to think about it.

* * *

Sleep retreated slowly from Ryoga. The first thing he was aware of was a low, almost subsonic hum. The soft glow of lights on his eyelids; the firm but yielding mattress on which he lay.

A murmur of conversation? Something like that. His head still felt full of fog. He tried to sit up, but was hit by an intense wave of vertigo almost at once.

A familiar hand caught him as he tried to fall, steadied him. "Easy, there, Ryoga. You're alright." Ranma.

"He shouldn't be waking for another hour, given the dosage," said another voice – male, older, concerned.

"You ain't seen what this guy can shrug off." Ranma again, and he could hear that damnable smirk in his voice.

Ryoga opened his eyes, took a moment to let the room come into focus. Voice croaking, he asked, "Where am I?"

"We're on _Claudia,_ we broke orbit a couple hours ago."

"Space again?" Ranma nodded. He noted that his friend was in his fatigues, not his usual outfit. "Great. How long was I out?"

"Most of a day. What do you remember?"

He sat up slowly, made it this time. "You showed up in the woods, wanted to talk. Something about a frame-up?" Ranma nodded. "Then... oh hell, who was it with you? I didn't hurt anyone, did I?"

"Nah, we're all fine. Surprised 'em but that's about it. You feelin' any better?"

"A bit." he nodded to the other man, by his outfit clearly a doctor. "Thanks." He turned back to Ranma." What did you mean, a frame?"

"Remember your last jaunt around space? How Nanoha said it was messin' with stuff?"

"Breaking holes in the dimensional wall or something like that, yeah."

"Somebody else is knockin' around, an' whatever they're usin, it looks like yours." Ranma shrugged. "No idea who they are or what they want, but the way it looked..."

Ryoga nodded. "If it's deliberate, someone might be setting me up. Or maybe someone I ran into on that trip, or something." The doctor handed him a drink. He gave another grateful nod. "So they want me for, what? A familiar face if this is someone we ran into that time?"

"Mostly, they wanna try and track 'em through you. Something about the energy signature."

"More sitting in a spell getting prodded? Fun."

"Been there, done that. In theory, this time it should be quick."

Ryoga nodded slowly. "Then back home for the fun and excitement?"

Ranma hesitated. "I ain't gonna drag ya to the dojo an' the gang, if that's what yer worried about. You an' 'Kane did enough damage last time." He smirked. "She's learned quick."

Ryoga thought back to that desperate, shame-filled fight, and the fallout after. "That she has." A sigh. "I guess I wasn't as over her as I thought I was. God, I wish I'd just _told_ her, not let it happen like that."

"Yeah, well... we all screw up sometimes. Just gotta get back up an' try ta make it right."

"Yeah." He sighed. "I really screwed up, Ranma. Not just with Akane, but with Akari, too."

"Cryin' ta yer girlfriend about how some other gal just broke yer heart wasn't the smartest thing you coulda done, yeah."

He closed his eyes, the gory details of Akari's rant playing through his memory. "She told you about that?"

"She brought four of her sumo pigs down to _my_ dojo an' took a crack at Akane, wanted ta get her fer 'trying to steal her man.'"

Ryoga winced. "That sounds expensive."

"Oh, the contractors love me. The girls're still mad at you. Almost as mad as they are at me."

The two sat in silence for a long moment. Finally Ranma started chuckling. "Man, look at us. We just have the worst luck with women."

Ryoga managed a small smile. "It's a gift." He sighed again. "I miss the old days, when we'd just all blame you."

"Guess we're growin' up."

"Yeah. It sucks."

"Hey, beats the alternative."

Ryoga couldn't help it, he smirked at Ranma's tone. "True." Then he frowned again. "Gotta figure something out; something to say to Akari."

"Don't look at me," said Ranma.

"Wasn't gonna, I want her to _like_ me after I'm done." He glanced to the doctor. "Any suggestions?"

The doctor raised his hands as if warding something off, smiling. "Leave me out of this, lads. Besides, my own track record with the fairer sex isn't much to write home about either. As your doctor, at least for the immediate future, I'm going to suggest plenty of rest. You seem to get... erratic when you're overtired."

"Yeah, well... It hasn't been my week."

"Well, as the chief medical magic specialist on this ship, I would consider it a courtesy if you avoid taking your week out on the crew. Even the marines."

* * *

The _Death's Head_ sat at the heart of an impressive assemblage of Imperial might, preparing to lead the next stage of Grand Admiral Thrawn's campaign against the Rebellion. A dozen Star Destroyers, including _Chimaera_, formed the force's core, flanked by several _Carack_-class cruisers, an _Interdictor_, and a pair of _Lancer_ corvettes. Delta Source had identified a large convoy with an appropriately large escort, and this would make for a fine raid. The materiel impact would be considerable, the morale impact moreso.

Imperial Intelligence was no longer what it had been under Iceheart, but it still had feelers in many places. The Rebel's leadership was running scared, terrified of the rumors of yet more Imperial superweapons and the mysterious genius leading the fleet. That fool of a Bothan was murmuring his platitudes and pulling himself into a greater position of power, doing everything he could to keep their best commander, Ackbar, out of the loop. Last word they had put the Mon Calamari in the brig of all places. More fools they. Emperor bless ambitious Bothans, they made things _so_ much easier.

Rumor had it he was going to try for Mon Mothma's position once he was done consolidating Ackbar's. Captain Janos Harbid hoped he did – it would weaken the Rebellion quite nicely.

The last status report came in, showing that the task force was ready to sortie. Harbid turned to the techno-mystics where they stood around their console in a silence that was even more unnerving than their chanting had been. "The task force is ready to move, Nassistor. Is the Engine ready?"

Another moment of the strange silence from the techno-mystics, then Nassistor turned towards him. "It is prepared. The wings of She Who Is As Gold shall carry us all."

_So long as they don't drop us into a black hole,_ he thought but did not say. "Excellent. Please, proceed."

A barely audible _hum_ of electronics built as the Engine gathered power, rising to a distinct tone that cut through the normal white noise of a ship in space. Silently, Harbid braced himself, some instinct telling him this was going to be much more disorienting than the usual jumps, as their mysterious Engine prepared to hurl uncountable megatonnes of fighting ships through space and time. Then the Engine engaged, and the universe _twisted_ around him.

And for an instant, he thought he saw a filigree of gold overlay it all.

* * *

Gourry Gabriev munched absently on an apple as he sat back on his chair. He and Lina had reached Seyruun yesterday, and made their way to the palace. She was currently ensconced in one of the palace's workrooms, talking with Amelia and Zelgaddis about the strange magic stuff that had been going on lately. He'd been invited, but magical shop talk tended to go over his head, and he didn't feel like waiting in the stuffy room for hours.

So he was waiting in an airy, well-appointed chamber, enjoying free food and watching the harbor through the window. He had his feet up on one of the fancy little couches, boots and all, much to the condemnation of one of the stewardesses. But the lady could do little other than glower at him, so he figured he'd just enjoy it. He and Lina didn't spend enough time in civilization for his tastes. Though to be fair, civilization was too expensive to stay long. They kept having to go after bandits and such to get the cash for more of it.

He relaxed back into the richly upholstered chair. It was the first day in a long, long while that he hadn't started by buckling on his armor. He had his sword, of course – the latest in a series of attempts to find something that suited him since losing the Sword of Light. A lightly enchanted blade of watered steel, it seemed to hold up to the abuse he inflicted on it in general use, which was a nice change after the last few. The Sword of Light had spoiled him. At least it had been put to a good cause.

Apple finished, he sent the core in a low arc to a small wastebin and turned his attention back to the platter. It was nice to be here – Prince Phil had clearly been worried about whatever Lina was, and he'd said that both of them were to be seen to. Thus, relaxation and free food for Gourry and-

A shriek of pain echoed from the workroom. Without even pausing for thought, Gourry was on his feet and charging the door, long sword sliding from its scabbard with a familiar metallic hiss. Shrieks from a mage's workroom were never good signs. He didn't bother with the door's handle, just dropped his shoulder and powered his way through it, stomping into the room.

Amelia was slumped in a chair, hands pressed to her forehead. Behind her, Zel leaned heavily against the wall, eyes unfocused. On the ground on the opposite side of the main worktable was Lina, curled into a fetal ball on the stones. Nothing else, no threats he could see. He didn't even feel himself drop the sword, but it was gone from his hands when he reached Lina, scooped her up and held her close. "What happened?"

"Magic surge..." wheezed Zel. "Like the ones she felt earlier, made her come back... but worse..."

In his arms, Lina whimpered, a small sound of pain and helplessness. He held her closer, panic at seeing her in such a state slowly ebbing. "Why did it hit her harder than you and Amelia?"

"Not sure... said Zel, still shakey. "But whatever it was, it was bad." He forced himself upright as Amelia moaned in pain. "Very, very bad."

Gourry looked at the woman he loved, seeming so small and fragile cradled in his arms. Very bad indeed.

* * *

Back in her home universe, _Enterprise _sat in formation with _Copernicus_, processing the data their jaunt between dimensions had revealed. Spectrography, energy readings, planetary surveys, gravitics, diagnostics of the dimensional drive and other systems – all were being gone over with a fine toothed comb by both ship's science divisions. They were deep into Gamma shift now, and Tom knew he should probably be trying to sleep. But it wouldn't come. Between the interest of exploring, the excitement of flying something as quick and nimble as one of the Runabouts(it had been far, far too long since he'd piloted something fast) and an armful of warm, happy, lightly snoring wife, he couldn't manage to drop off.

_Damned if I'll ever admit it to Dad, but this was good for me. I like this. I _need_ this._ He smiled ruefully. _I'm a total space-rat, these days. Half a decade lost out there, and I still want to go back. And I'm in good company._ Almost unconsciously, he squeezed his wife for a moment.

B'Elanna mumbled something in her sleep, shifted position and moving closer to him. He heard a small change in her breathing as she woke. "Tom? Why're you still awake?"

"Just thinking."

A chuckle. "You aren't good at that, just get some sleep." She glanced to the chrono on the wall. "We're both due back on shift in about six hours." She shifted position slightly, allowing him to retrieve his arm, and tried to settle back to sleep. After a few moments, it was clear she'd had no luck with that. "So. What were you thinking about?"

"How good it is to be back up here." He chuckled. "Spent years trying to get back, swore I'd never set foot on another starship so long as I lived... and now? I'm kinda glad we let Dad twist our arms into this. I missed flying... a lot more than I thought I did."

Her voice quiet, she said, "Yeah, I know the feeling. Messing around with vintage groundcars is kind of fun, but it's no match for an engine room."

"The grapevine didn't say anything about engine room techs being sent to Sickbay with broken limbs or noses, so I can only conclude that _Enterprise_'s bunch know better than to irritate Klingons."

"Or I might have learned a thing or two about keeping my temper in the last six years."

"Or that." The two smiled at each other, and shared a quick kiss. "You're right about us needing some rest, though. Sorry I woke you."

"You're forgiven. Let's just get some sleep."

Tom settled in, letting the contented feeling(and armful of happy wife) lull him to sleep.

And no sooner had he started to drop off when the Red Alert klaxons started blaring.

* * *

Commander Data glanced briefly from the viewscreen – which showed a tactical display rather than a specific ship or planet – to the port turbolift as it's doors opened with their distinct _hiss_. Lieutenant Paris, uniform tunic undone over his undershirt, bolted out, racing to the helm. Half a step behind him, G'rokas raced for tactical, _sans _boots, sash, and insignia. Clearly, both had been asleep when the alert had sounded. Ensign Jones looked relieved as he surrendered the Helm to Paris.

The starboard turbolift hissed open, disgorging Captain Picard, who was not out of uniform. "Status, Number One," he asked as Data vacated the Captain's chair.

"Four minutes and twenty-seven seconds ago, the trace anomaly produced by our return jump began to emit tetryons and trace amounts of chronitron, gatrion, and hibrionic radiation. Twenty one point six seconds later, it opened into some form of subspace rupture, at which point I sounded the Red Alert. Sensors are having difficulty penetrating the rupture, but I believe we are detecting large objects in motion on the far side."

Picard frowned at the tactical view. "Put this rupture on screen, please."

Data manipulated his small console. He'd taken the rupture off the screen because it seemed to... disturb the other members of the bridge crew. As the strange, purple-on-black maelstrom re-appeared on screen, he saw and heard an instant reaction from the crew. Ensign Jones screwed his eyes shut and turned away at once, shuddering violently. Lieutenant Paris inhaled sharply, then deliberately focused on his console, away from the screen. Commander G'rokas hissed a quiet oath. At the Science Station, Seven of Nine shifted, her breathing changing; the defensive reaction he had observed when she felt herself under attack or condemnation, only moreso. And in the center seat, Captain Picard's eyes narrowed slightly. And nothing else.

A faint pride rose in Data; his captain was stronger than most.

"How large is that... rupture?" Asked Picard in a carefully controlled tone.

Seven sounded shaken as she answered. "It appears to be a spherical rupture with a radius of approximately one-point-three-five kilometers." She paused, took a breath. She continued, voice steadier. "It _appears_ to be expanding roughly one meter's radius per second."

Picard nodded slowly. "Lieutenant Paris, please back us away. One quarter impulse."

"Aye, sir."

"Status of _Copernicus_?"

"She has also withdrawn from the rupture and is forwarding her sensor data to us," said Seven.

"Can we see the... interior... of this rupture?"

"Nothing definite, sir. The radiation surge is interfering with the sensors. I am attempting to compensate."

"Number One, please assist."

Data was halfway to the science station when Seven spoke again. "Captain! The radiation surge is increasing in rate and density. Something is emerging from the rift."

"On screen."

The image shifted, focus moving in from their view of the entire rift. A massive object – long, sinuous main body, trailing tentacles. A living thing – no constructed starship could _move_ like that – turning its' inhuman, too-many-eyed face to the _Enterprise _and _Copernicus_ in turn.

Paris swore softly, face pale.

Picard stared in silence for a long moment, looking as though he was considering his options. "What is that... thing?"

Before any on the bridge could answer, the creature opened it's beak, and every biological life form present seemed to flinch. Then it charged towards _Copernicus._

_

* * *

_

_Sword of Kahless guard my soul,_ thought G'rokas as he saw some _thing _from the darkest of folk-tales appear, bold as brass and big as life – seven hundred meters from the tip of it's beak to the ends of its tentacles if it was a meter. The Klingons had tales of creatures such as this, things older and darker than Gre'thor itself. And now, one of those myths was in front of him, racing towards the lesser ship that watched them.

He did not think it intended to shake their hands.

Even before Captain Picard ordered him to, he had the weapons ready, managed to lock onto the _petaQ_, even though it was flesh and not metal and the sensors seemed to like studying it as little as he did. He'd been looking forward to testing out _Enterprise_'s weapons suite; eager to see what it could do, if a _Sovereign_ class Starship's weapons were as impressive as their spies said they were. But he held to his discipline, and waited for orders.

Because that discipline was the only thing keeping him from gibbering in terror at the utterly soul-chilling _howl_ of the thing.

On the screen, the howling beast's tentacles began to crackle with lightning, energy playing along them as it closed on its prey. _Copernicus_ was slow to maneuver, and it was far faster than any living thing had a right to be. Swift as light, the tentacle whipsawed forward, lightning leaping from them and lashing against the science vessel's shields. Even past the primal fear, and utter _wrongness_ of the thing, he could see that lesser ship rock under the blow. "Captain.."

"Open fire!" growled Picard, and under the fear, G'rokas could hear the steel and fire that had led to the man being the only person to ever serve as Arbiter of Succession _twice._ Fingers danced across his controls, and phasers lashed at the creature, searing at its flesh and severing a tentacle.

It's howl of challenge became one of rage, and it turned from its lesser prey and raced towards _Enterprise_. Some instinct of his own welled up, and he loosed a howl of his own, savage and defiant, _daring _the Fek'lhr-damned thing to take a crack at them. It spun and whirled its way around a volley of quantum torpedoes, though the phasers severed another of its too-many arms. Lightning whipsawed, and the _Sovereign_ rocked beneath it's blow.

But not so badly as it might have; under Paris' hands, the ship danced. He was _good._ They were not the moves a _Vor'cha_ would make, but they _worked_, and despite its speed, the tentacled thing could not close with them. Lightning crackled again, and again he answered with phasers and torpedoes; searing a line of charred flesh along one of its flanks even as one of the torpedoes found its mark, blasting a bloody crater in its hellish flesh.

Even so wounded, the thing could still strike, and _Enterprise_ rocked once more, more violently, as its blasts found a weakness in her shields and lashed at the great ship's armor. One of his side consoles – for controlling tractor beams and thus of no use to him right now – exploded in a shower of sparks and shrapnel. He felt some of it draw fire across his cheek, and simply bared his teeth in a snarl. The _Sovereign_'s weaponry blasted back fury and defiance, a pair of torpedoes slamming home on either side of one of it's soul-drinking eyes.

The entire front half of the thing's body blew apart, the thing's impossible howl died abruptly, and suddenly he could breath freely once more. The thing, whatever it was, was dead.


	7. Chapter 6

_As always, I don't own the universes and characters used within. This is intended as entertainment and tribute, and I make no claims._

Chapter Six

_ Bad enough we have to dance with the frakking Cylons_, thought Kara "Starbuck" Thrace, _but who the frak are _these _people?_

She rolled the Viper out of the line of fire of one Raider, clipping it with her own shots. She spared a moment to glance at her ammo gauge. The number was lower than she liked. A lot lower. She didn't let herself focus on that, eased back into her pilot's couch, let instincts born of years of flying carry her through the battle. Her instincts were _very _good. Better than just about everyone she'd ever flown with, and everyone she'd trained.

She'd watched a lot of her students buy the farm, these last few years, because of it. It frakking well hurt.

Cat's voice crackled over the wireless. _"Who the frak are the these guys?"_

"No idea," replied Starbuck on the squadron freq as she lined up one of the squiddy bastards herself, tore it up with an extended burst from her guns. "But at least they seem to be going after the Cylons, too." Whatever the squiddy things were, they didn't seem to play favorites when it came to picking targets.

The wireless crackled. _"All Vipers, this is Galactica Actual – fall back on the fleet. Some of these newcomers are inbound on the civilians."_

Starbuck swore as she flipped her fighter around, firewalling the throttle. Her onboard DRADIS pinged several of the little, fighter-sized ones inside the fleet, where _Galactica_'s guns couldn't safely smite them. The Grand Old Girl was laying into one of the big ones, the hundred-meter thing trading those weird blue-white blasts against her autocannons. For a long moment, she watcher her DRADIS carefully, barely daring to breath – then saw that the Cylons were also trying to deal with the newcomers rather than harass the fleet. Several of the big suckers were closing on the two basestars.

Cat on her wing, Starbuck swooped down on one of the critters that seemed to be taking a chunk out of _Colonial One_, cannons thundering.

* * *

Gaius Baltar ignored Six's smug smile as he followed the Marines into CnC, irritated at being awoken at such a godawful hour. He wasn't well loved by the military, he knew, but damned if he'd let them treat him like this. "What's going on," he demanded when he reached the CnC.

Adama glanced up from the DRADIS. "We're under attack, mister Baltar."

"I could tell that," said Gaius acidly. "Why wake me? Surely you can handle the Cylons."

Adama nodded to one of his subordinates, who slid a glossy flatpic towards him. "They aren't Cylons. Not _just_ Cylons, anyway." He paused a moment, as the scientist turned politician stared at the... _thing_ in the picture. "Mister Baltar... what are we dealing with here?"

_That _cannot_ be a spaceship,_ he thought. He felt himself pale. "I..." oh, it was going to _hurt _to say this, but he couldn't avoid it, "I don't know. Some kind of... creature?" _But nothing can live in vacuum. Unless..._

"Be careful of your assumptions, Gaius," said Six, leaning close, unnoticed by all others. "You assume you know everything about God's Creation. That's a very human arrogance."

Tigh's voice growled. "Well, then, Mister Baltar, why don't you figure out _what the frak _it is, and how we _deal_ with it?"

"Yes, of course." He quickly made his way to one of the sensor stations, started punching data through the console. The _politician_ was swept away; as was the posturing ladies man. Baltar the Scientist dove into what he loved most, and tried to puzzle it out.

* * *

Outwardly, Lee Adama was almost calm, so far as anyone could tell looking into his cockpit. The CAG was composed and efficient, tracking his pilots on the Viper's status board and rattling off orders. _Thank the gods the Cylons decided to get distracted too, _he thought as he spun the lithe fighter around. Whoever, or whatever, these strangers and their bizarre, squid-like ships were, they seemed to want to go after anything that moved, not just the weaker targets.

Though the handful of the little frakkers who'd gotten in amid the civilian fleet had done damage enough; their strange, bright gunfire leaving half a dozen ships bleeding air. And something about them genuinely twisted his head when he tried to look at them.

He was damn grateful that his was one of the newer Vipers. The improved instrumentation meant that trying to target by his scopes and not the mark one eyeball was reasonably doable, even this close to civie ships. He didn't know how Kara and her bunch were managing with their older models. Training and experience let him keep the appearance of calm as they fought these... things, picking off the little ones amid the fleet.

Inside, he was screaming. There were bigger ones, a hundred meters long if they were a centimeter, closing in on _Galactica_ and the two BaseStars against them. The three closing on _Galactica_ were slowly pushing through the hail of fire from the Battlestar's broadside, though the cannons were chipping away at them. The streamers the lead one trailed had to be air and coolant. Because, sinuous motions or not, they _had _to be ships of some kind. Nothing could live in deep space.

_If it can,_ said a mental voice tinged in bleak humor, _The President's going to be very disappointed. She thought she'd killed those Cylons, after all._

He wondered, briefly, how they were going to deal with those big ones, that seemed so resistant to gunfire. _Probably throw Athena and her Raptors at them, hit the suckers with some nukes. But then, they'd have to rearm to go after the BaseStars, and that leaves us vulnerable..._

The last of the little frakkers died beneath Hotdog's guns, and Lee allowed himself a savage smile at the satisfied whoop that sounded over the squadron's Wireless. He let it go for a moment, then set about to wrangle them back to order. "Okay everyone," he said, keying the Wireless. "Let's deal with the big ones now, before the Toasters decide to come after us."

It seemed his father had had a similar thought – the _Galactica'_s guns cut off, then suddenly blazed madly, the entire broadside targeting the beak-_bow, not beak – it can't be a living thing –_ of the lead ship. The tone of its jamming – or whatever the frak that scream was – changed to one laced with greater pain, and it started to come apart under their pounding, shedding-

_That cannot be hull metal and air – that looks like blood, flesh, bone... what in the God's names _is _that thing? _His head twisted, stomach lurching, at the sheer _wrongness _of it all.

Then the two big ones still heading for _Galactica _blazed away with volleys of their strange, glowing cannons – _energy weapons? Just a theory, but makes more sense than..._ and the big ship rocked. Air gushed for a moment, then cut off – no, not entirely. He could see air still leaking from the hull; the battered old ship's pressure seals no longer entirely intact. _Frak._ _Hope the Chief is in good form today._

The other two big squids fell to _Galactica_'s concentrated fire in short order, Starbuck's squadron helping with the last. In the distance, the sharp snap-_flash_ of nuke strikes haloed another squid like a spider in a candle's flame. "All right people, check your ammo and fuel. We're going to have company again in a moment." He checked his own by reflex – low, but he had enough for a dogfight or two. Enough to clear a path for Athena and her Raptors.

Then space _twisted_ once more, around the point where the last wave had jumped in, and another squidlike ship passed through it, and Lee's heart nearly stopped at the sight. His mind wanted to deny it; to refuse to believe something like _that _could exist – it had a _face_, and too many eyes, and he felt himself gibber at the sight as its massive, sinuous form pushed into space, loosing some strange sound that carried despite the vacuum; a sound of challenge.

He looked away, forcing his eyes down to the DRADIS. _Seven hundred meters long_._ How much tougher than the last ones is it?_

By reflex he ground out orders to his squadrons, tried to get them together, back into some kind of order. The Cylons were quicker; the snap-_flash_ of nukes lighting up one of the thing's flanks, though against this one's mottled hide they seemed mere pinpricks, and appeared to do almost nothing. Energy crackled along trailing tentacles, swept out in an almost lazy arc, tearing through the Cylon raiders like fire through dry grass. Another tentacle waved, and one of the BaseStars simply was suddenly _gone. _

His squadrons were still forming up when his DRADIS pinged, reporting a new contact. And a wave of azure light devoured the squid whole.

* * *

"The Voidspawn is dead, Commodore," said the weapons officer, and Joffery Hoss nodded sharply. It had been over a century since the Republican navy had run afoul of the damned things, but the standing orders were clear. And fortunately, it seemed they hadn't changed much in the intervening time.

"Transmit to the remaining ships: This is Commodore Joffery Hoss of the Bradeson Republican Naval vessel _Admiral Minsk._ We have defeated the Voidspawn attacking you, and shall be sealing the breach it used to attack. Please remain calm." He paused, waiting for the communications officer's nod, then keyed the intraship comm. "Bridge to Thaum lab. Please get started on charting and sealing that rupture."

_"Thaum to bridge – will do, Commodore."_

"Helmsman, hold our position. Guns, watch that rift. If more of those Voidspawn stick their beaks out, blow them off."

He heard a pair if 'Aye, sir's and a small chuckle. He and this new crew were getting used to each other – he'd not served with anyone on this ship before, and only two of the destroyers in the task force. He'd never expected to get a second chance, so he was doing everything he could to rebuild his reputation as a good officer. Humor had worked before, as had taking an even and fair hand to tasks of discipline. Well, not perfectly even. He tended to land a bit harder on officers than enlisted, but that seemed to work alright for discipline – if only because, based on her record, he could count on the ship's bosun to take up any slack he might give the enlisted.

He wasn't going to waste this. So few officers got a second chance.

"Sensors, what are the locals up to?"

"Both forces appear to be forming up, sir. From the way they're banging away with active sensors, I think they're about to get into it with each other."

_Perhaps the Voidspawn interrupted them. Even so..._ he shook his head. He was about to walk to the bridge's science station when the comm officer said, "Sir, both fleets are hailing us, prerecorded messages."

"Let's hear them. First, the fleet with all the escorts."

The transmission played, the speaker sounding like a man old, tired, and defiant. _"This is Admiral William Adama of the Colonial Fleet Battlestar _Galactica_ to _Admiral Minsk._ Thank you for your assistance against that... creature. The Cylon force is almost certain to attack us now that it's gone. We have nearly fifty thousand civilians in the fleet, and only _Galactica _herself and our fighters are armed. Any assistance you could render would be... appreciated."_

Hoss heard someone swear, and frowned himself. _That doesn't sound good. _"And the other one?"

The message started, in a voice harsh and mechanical. _"Your assistance is appreciated, however, we have a dispute to settle with the Colonials. It is not your affair, do not interfere."_

A weight settled into the pit of his stomach. "Comms, hail the 'Cylon.'"

The comm officer tried to raise them. "No response, sir."

The tactical officer said, "Their fighters are forming up for a run on the Colonials, sir. Scans show them packing some kind of atomics – looks like just low kiloton yields, but they've got a _lot_ of them."

"And those Colonials – is that fleet actually unarmed?" _Oh, I have a truly bad feeling about this._ If that fleet was mostly unarmed, and these Cylons meant to slaughter it...

"It looks that way, sir." The tactical officer's voice was grim.

_Oh, Queen of Ice and Darkness... _"Can _Galactica _and her fighters hold them off?"

"Not sure, Commodore. Not enough data... but I'm not reading any shields on those civies- even firecrackers like those KT-range nukes could crack them."

For a long moment, Hoss stood with eyes closed, weighing the General Orders against his conscience. _We don't know a damn thing about the situation, and G.O. Three dictates not to get into the middle of a dispute between unknown spacefaring powers. If we get involved directly, they'll crucify me. No way in the icy hells will I get a third chance..._

_ And if I don't, I'll never be able to look in the mirror again without wincing. I will not play silent witness to another massacre._ "Guns. Fire a warning volley between those forces. Comms, warn the Cylons off."

* * *

The video feed from the Vipers was grainy, low quality from the compression, but it showed the wave of fire slash before the Raiders. Adama allowed himself a moment of hope – these strangers would not stand idly by and watch the wounded Battlestar and her charges be overwhelmed. _Perhaps the Gods still have some mercy for us._

"Any word from that ship?"

At his station, Gaeta replied, "They just told the Cylons to back off again." A pause. "The tone I'm hearing is more 'don't do it where we can see you' than 'don't do it.'"

"Probably the best we could hope for," muttered Colonel Tigh.

Adama nodded as he watched the DRADIS. The Raiders seemed to be hesitating. "It might be enough."

The comm crackled with his son's voice. _"CAG to Galactica Actual – what are your orders?"_

"Fall back on _Galactica _for now, Apollo." He turned towards their pet mad scientist. "Mister Baltar. What are we dealing with here?"

The scientist glanced towards empty air for a moment, then looked at him. "I have-" He stopped, trying to compose himself. "I have no idea, Admiral. These people, whoever they are, are vastly more powerful than we are. The Cylon's missiles barely scratched that last... thing... but they obliterated it. Using some kind of directed energy weapon. Our science-" he shot another glance at empty air. Adama kept his expression neutral – having their one and only real scientist crack completely right now could be a minor disaster. He sent a silent prayer to the Gods that they'd keep him sane enough to help. "Our science considers energy weapons to be a theory – and impossible to make practical. I can't make any sense of the energy readings off that ship, either." A pause for breath, and then he shrugged. "I'll need time to give you any kind of definite answer. I _can_ tell you, that whatever they used to get here wasn't a jump drive like our own, _and_ it wasn't whatever the creatures were using."

"Well that's frakking useless-" snarled Tigh.

Baltar found some steel in his reply. "I am watching something that everything I know says is impossible. I don't know what their drive is. I don't know what their weapons are. I don't know what their sensors are. _Yet._ You dragged me up here to try and tell you what they are, so kindly shut up and let me work."

Adama grabbed Tigh's shoulder before his XO could do something they'd eventually regret. "Take your time, Doctor."

Gaeta interrupted. "Admiral, we have the Quorum on the Wireless. They're demanding an explanation."

"Of course they are," muttered Adama. _I wish I had one for them._

_

* * *

_

The remaining BaseStar was crewed entirely by Centurions. The other ship had been in command of their little task force, under a Number One. With his rather abrupt death they fell back on their own judgement and standing orders. Their orders were to destroy the Colonials, or at least _Galactica. _They recognized the warning shot for what it was, and they certainly knew enough to recognize that, given what it had done to the unknown ships, the _Admiral Minsk_ would almost certainly be able to destroy them. The Hybrid was babbling nonsense that seemed to at least vaguely agree with that, inasmuch as the Centurions could interpret her words. They were hampered, under the circumstances, by the Number One's determination that the Centurions' minds must be simple, that they not be capable of abstract thought and learning.

That left them with their last orders, and those orders were clear: kill the humans once the unknowns were dealt with.

If this stranger wanted to be an obstacle to their carrying out their orders, it would have to be dealt with.

* * *

"Commodore, those Cylons have a death wish."

Hoss turned towards Tactical. "I'm sorry, what?"

"They've formed up and they're painting us with targeting sensors."

"Comms, warn them off again." _Are they completely insane? Or do they just not realize that we can laugh off mere kt-range nukes?_

"No response to our hails, Commodore."

The tactical officer said, "Sir, their fighters are starting an attack run. Mass fire from fighters and the capital ship – looks like explosive tipped kinetic penetrators."

Hoss looked to his display, brought up the tactical view. The Cylon's fire rained down upon them, impacting the shields like a summer storm – enough to be noticed, but not even close to a danger. On the visual, he saw streaks of dirty smoke reach from beneath the ships as they fired their missiles, and shook his head. _They must be some kind of fanatics. This is lunacy. Well, standard rules of engagement..._ "Guns. Deal with them."

* * *

The range was long for the mark one eyeball to make out details, but Starbuck made due. She'd had a frakload of combat experience, especially in the older Vipers, and she could see enough. Whoever this Commodore Hoss was, he drove one hell of a ship. It had absorbed an incredible amount of fire from the Toasters without seeming to even notice, and then replied in kind, impossible cannons shattering the Basestar, lesser weapons picking off Raiders in job lots.

She joined her squadron's triumphant whoops, the sight of the Toasters getting thrashed helping shake them out of the fear the squids had induced. Watching that felt good. Real fraking good.

Apollo's voice crackled over the Wireless. _"All right people, quiet down. We don't know what these new people are going to do next, stay sharp."_

_ I was wondering when she'd get here_, thought William Adama as Laura Roslin walked into CnC. She wasted no time on pleasantries. "Admiral, what's going on?"

"The Cylon force that attacked us has been defeated by a... third party. Beyond that, we don't know."

The schoolteacher turned president blinked. "A... third party?"

From his console, Baltar said, "An unknown, highly advanced ship with significant defenses and firepower. I'm still gathering data."

She seemed to recover her poise. "I see. Have they said anything to us?"

"Not much," said Adama. "I was preparing to contact them again when you arrived."

"Then by all means," she said, gesturing towards the status board.

* * *

"_Captain's Log, stardate 55632.6. Our mission to field test our experimental Dimensional Drive has been both more and less successful than we had hoped. While we are able to control the Drive to some extent, there appears to be a lasting and thus far negative side effect to its use: we are creating anomalies in space-time when we make use of the drive. Mr. Data, along with our supposed 'experts' in this field, are unable to determine why these anomalies are coming into being, or where, precisely, they lead. All we know with any certainty is that they act as pathways of some description._

_ The creature that emerged from these anomalies defy conventional description. It does not match up with any phylum of terrestrial life of which I am aware, though in the most basic of senses it bears a vague resemblance to a cephalopod. More, simply observing it for any length of time leads to intense and painful headaches. Furthermore, Counselor Tigan informs me that several members of the crew have reported disturbing dreams featuring those selfsame creatures. They bring to mind the works of Lovecraft and his ilk, though I dislike giving any credence to the idea of monsters from beyond space._

_ I believe it is in our best interests to continue to explore and gather information; if only to determine the cause and hopefully solution to these strange anomalies._

_

* * *

_

It was a subdued staff meeting. Seldom was Starfleet so thoroughly reminded that there were still many things in the universe it didn't know about, and Tom figured this finding was as bad as most. That thing, some kind of living creature, had taken quite the beating, and given the _Enterprise_ a sizable whack at the same time. The rupture it had come through had begun to close shortly after the... creature... emerged, though their data and _Copernicus' _didn't quite agree on exactly _when_, which was... unnerving.

Commander Data was just finishing summarizing the theoretical information about the breach and how it had formed, and it had been mostly dry and technical. Oh, intellectually Tom knew that most of the information was probably important, but he just couldn't get his head around a lot of it, the interplays of dozens of exotic radiations and such. That the creatures were telepathic also grated on his nerves – and that godawful scream the thing had loosed could have been nothing else. Even if you're reasonably sure that a given telepath is friendly, they tended to be unnerving. Spacegoing telepaths the size of capital ships were the sort of things that plagued one's dreams.

Still, he wasn't in the worst shape of the bunch. G'rokas and Lister both seemed just as confused, though the Klingon's stoic expression was still solid. He tuned back into the conversation as Data finished. Picard let the silence hang for a moment, then nodded. "All right. That brings us to our current situation." He glanced towards Seven, then asked, "What did the probe discover?"

"The probe was unable to penetrate very... for lack of a better term, deeply, into the rift. Upon crossing its threshold, the probe's impulse drive ceased to function. Inertia and thrusters carried it deeper, but not so deep as we had planned." She took a moment to touch the controls at her conference table seat, and the radiation chart they'd had on the room's viewer was replaced by a wireframe sensor map of the interior of the rift. "The rift's interior is irregular if largely cylindrical, and it appears to be saturated with radiation similar to what it emits, though lacking the tetryon and hibrionic radiation. The probe detected no definite life signs, but there were several moving objects, and the probe's telemetry cut off... abruptly."

_Oh, that's the sort of thing you just love to hear,_ thought Tom grimly. "So it's probably populated."

"T' critter 'ad tae come from sommat, dinnit?" said Lister. The souser's expression was clouded, deep in thought, belying his easy words.

Picard nodded, expression thoughtful. "Mister Data, Seven... how great an impact would proximity to one of these rifts have on an M-class planet? Specifically the radiation it releases."

"Unknown, but likely a notable one," said the android.

The borg frowned, then added, "I do not have sufficient data to give a definite answer, but I suspect the same. The testing determined that the radiation surge of a jump could be deflected by shields, it did not measure the effect on living tissue."

"Consult with Doctor Crusher, if you please. Should these spread, StarFleet needs to know how to respond."

Tom frowned at the display. Something about the map... He called it up on the smaller screen built into the conference table before him. _A lot deeper than it looks from out here... and it almost look like it... curves away at the 'bottom,' not just ends... like it continues further than the probe could see. _"Is it my imagination, or does this look almost like a wormhole?"

"Or a tunnel," rumbled G'rokas. "Klingon legend speaks of creatures like these, making their lairs in the deepest places of space."

"Smeggin' great," muttered Lister.

Picard's face took on an odd expression for a moment. "A tunnel, or wormhole. Mister Data, based on the information we already have, can you extrapolate where this rift might lead? And perhaps plot a way through it using the dimensional drive?"

"Intriguing," said the android. "I may be able to do so, though I will require the assistance of the science division."

"Make it so."

* * *

_Strange as it seems, this place is almost... peaceful,_ thought Janice "Starlight" Parker as she guided her _Ferret_ on its CSP. _No Cats, no pirates, nothing but us_.

_ And a hole in space that occasionally spits out killer space squid._

She shook her head, clearing the thought from her mind. This was not a good time to panic. Nobody wanted to stick around here, including, so the grapevine relayed, Tolwyn himself. Nobody was quite sure why they hadn't jumped back, or why Taggart and the _Bonnie Heather_ had followed them, though rumor had it that Maniac and Maverick knew something they weren't allowed to say. It would be just their luck if this was some spook's idea. Most likely some spook sitting in an air-conditioned office back on Terra, who'd never had to risk his own personal ass in the field.

The system itself seemed mostly unremarkable. Relatively thick asteroid belt, one planet just inside the liquid water zone, a couple gas giants in the outer system. They didn't have the surveying gear to look everything over properly, but she suspected if this place wasn't... well, on the far side of a bizarre hole in space, it'd be a decent candidate for settlement. If nothing else, some asteroid mining facilities would likely be profitable – she'd done a pass through the belt yesterday, and a goodly percentage of those rocks read as ferrous.

On her scopes, she could see several other fighters just coming into range – the picket they'd left on the jump point. A handful of the squids had come through, and run smack into a wall of fire from Angel's _Rapier_s. It looked like they'd rotated out, however – she saw _Saber_s on station at the moment.

She keyed the comm. "Starlight to picket, coming into range now on my CSP. Any activity?"

_"Doomsday to Starlight – not a peep from the hole for the last few hours. Figure it's trying to lull us into a false sense of secur-_"

The message cut off as _something_ surged into view from the portal. "Starlight to _Concordia_! New contact at the portal, size heavy cruiser or better!"

_"Scrambling the ready fighters now, do not engage until they join you."_

_

* * *

_

"The jump appears to have been successful, Captain," said Commander Data as he worked his console. "I am detecting several small ships in the vicinity of the anomaly."

"On screen." The ships appeared – a group of what looked to be fighters, vectoring away from them at speed. "Open hailing frequencies," said the Captain. He paused a moment, then began, "This is Captain Jean-Luc Picard of the Federation Starship Enterprise to all ships in this system. We are on a peaceful mission of exploration; investigating a series of space-time anomalies and do not have hostile intentions. Please respond."

There was a long silence. As it stretched, Data said, "Captain, long range sensors are detecting what appears to be a capital ship, possibly the base ship for the vessels in this vicinity." Said ships had stopped their headlong flight, and were holding position nearby.

After a long moment, they received a reply. _"This is Admiral Tolwyn of the Terran Confederation vessel Concordia. We are also investigating strange anomalies." _A brief pause, then, _"Perhaps we could compare notes."_

_

* * *

_

_ The TCS Concordia,_ thought Tom idly,_ is one damned impressive ship._

Neither Picard nor Tolwyn had wanted to start discussing things on an open channel, and so Tom Paris was flying the Captain, Seven, a security officer, and several members of the science team, towards the big ship aboard _USS Fraser_. They'd been told _Concordia _was simply a carrier, but it was one hell of a well armed carrier. G'rokas and Data had still been trying to puzzle our her armaments when the runabout launched, but if they compared at all well with her shields, they would be impressive.

Following the landing beacons he'd been instructed to, he guided the Runabout into the starboard launching bay, landing delicately on the pad. "Want me to keep the engines hot, Captain?"

"That should not be necessary, lieutenant, and we don't want to seem to be poor guests." Picard stood, moved to the hatch. "That said, please keep a transporter lock on us at all times."

"Aye, Captain. Good luck."


	8. Chapter 7

_Disclaimer: I don't own these worlds and characters - this is intended simply as entertainment and a tribute. Please don't sue._

Chapter Seven

_As prison cells go, this one's not bad_, thought Ryoga Hibiki as he stretched out on the bed. The bed was reasonably comfortable, and there was a proper bathroom(if only because it seemed to annoy his captors, he refused to call it a 'head.') complete with a shower in a little alcove to one side. No books, or tv, or anything like that, but he'd been alone before and it didn't get to him too badly.

He couldn't even get too mad at them for locking him up. He'd been almost completely out of it when they'd tracked him down in the forest, and he'd attacked without any real provocation. He wasn't exactly thrilled with the idea of being experimented on to help them find the bad guys, but he couldn't protest too bitterly. It wasn't like he had anything else to do, or anywhere to go. Not until he figured out how to apologize to Akari.

It wasn't like the family house in Tokyo was much of a home, after all. Even the members of his family who weren't cursed to be forever lost tended to a terrible wanderlust. The place was barely inhabited, and his dog frequently got fed solely due to the kindness of strangers. He sighed. _Enough of this moping. It won't help with Akari. How do you apologize for not being totally over another girl? Hell, how do you apologize for ranting about how that girl broke your heart to your current girlfriend?_

Nothing came to him. He'd still not come up with anything that felt even remotely likely to work when they came down to grab him for another session of scrying.

* * *

Tomas Aston suppressed the urge to swear loudly as he sparred with Ranma.

He'd had a rough idea of what the martial artist was capable of, both from his file and from observations, but he hadn't realized just how bloody _effortless_ it seemed to be for the pigtailed fighter. Aston was pushing to keep up, and Ranma barely seemed winded.

And the whoops of laughter at his predicament didn't help. _Don't you lot have practice of your own to get to?_ He Sent to them harshly.

He could hear the laughter in Kal McLaren's reply. _We're just observing for the sake of improving our own practice later, staff sergeant._

_ Oh, so you _aren't_ laughing at my expense. Bloody idiots._

_ Hey, now, boss,_ Sent Dai, _He was recruited by the White Devil; there's no shame in being overshadowed._

Aston snarled something incoherent and sent a spiral of magical bolts Ranma's way, jumping out of the martial artist's reach as the youth dodged. _Fine then. While you're watching, why not do something useful?_

_ Like what, boss?_

_ Like distract the bastard for me!_

Even telepathic, laughter was distinctive. Kia in particular was just finding this hilarious, damn her eyes.

"So," said Dai, in the chipper tone of someone who _knew_ his own personal ass wasn't in the sling right now, "What can you tell us about your homeworld, Ranma? We're curious."

"Ya mean ya wanna distract me so yer boss don't get his butt kicked so bad?"

Dai and the other marines laughed. Aston spared a moment to glare at his subordinates, then returned his attention to Ranma as Dai kept talking. "Well, that was his theory. But I'll admit, I'm curious myself."

Ranma smirked, and _moved_, slipping close faster than he could raise a shield, sending him sprawling. "Well, I ain't much fer history. Dunno what I could really tell ya."

"Fair enough," said Kia, fiddling with one cyan braid as she watched Ranma and Aston throw each-other around the mats. "How about, how are your people taking the revelations about magic?"

"'My people,'" he snorted. "Like Japan's the whole world. The reaction in Japan is mostly 'huh, guess we shoulda known' as much as anything else – we never let getting all 'modern' make us forget all our legends. Buncha folks think it's all a joke or a lie – like we just wrecked half of Tokyo for the hell of it." He paused for a moment as Aston loosed a volley of bolts, wildly swirling around each other in a way meant to make them hard to track or dodge. The aquatransexual managed to dodge most of the volley anyway, though one of them grazed an arm. Aston figured that was a decent point for him given how slippery the bastard was.

"I know some places just flipped their shit completely when they found out. Big chunka Europe an' North America didn't like it at _all_, but I think I heard that most of their governments got sane an' ran with it. The Senshi mentioned something about working with some Brit group, an' I know a couple American magic types." Another shrug, the motion distinct even as he dodged inside Aston's guard _again_ godsfuckingdamnit and sent the older man flying. "They seem decent enough, for gaijin. I gotta admit, I'm a little curious why yer' askin', other than covering Tom. I know you guys got files on us, an' you been recruiting from Earth for a while."

"All that goes into the 'need to know' bin," said Kia.

Dai nodded. "And we're just marines. Lowly spacedogs fit only to throw at a problem until we or it is gone. We don't 'need to know' anything, far as the brass is concerned."

Ranma snorted. "Figures. The guys making the calls always seem to b-WAH!" THAT finally worked, and it was Ranma's turn to sail across the gym under someone else's power as Aston finally managed to get a good one to connect. He recovered himself in midair, landing in a crouch near the bulkhead. "Nice one, man."

Aston felt himself smile. "Thanks. It felt rather good." The two locked gazes for a moment, then by unspoken agreement, straightened up from their fighting stances and headed to the sideboard and its water. "Before this trip, the only real contact this squad's had with Earthers was the White Devil, and about all she'll say about Earth is a few stories about her family and how she couldn't go into the 'family business' or something. Which is odd, since I think she said they're bakers."

In a tone of false severity, Kal said, "Cake is serious business."

"Most of what we've seen of Earth is from various television shows that got imported. So we know they're mostly bull, but they're all we've got to work with." Dai shrugged. "Still, a lot of it's entertaining stuff, and _some_ of it has to be mostly right."

Ranma smiled as he put down a drink. "What kinda shows do you guys like?" He snorted. "Now there's a question I never thought I'd ask a guy from space."

"Some of the comedys work really well, and a lot of your science fiction is damned creative. Some documentary stuff is fascinating, of course." A shrug as Aston took another pull from his own drink. "Can't say I care much for 'reality shows.'"

"Nobody likes those."

"You'ld be surprised," said Kia ruefully. "My family's just gone nuts over a few of those. It's kinda scarey."

"It's like a road accident," said Kal. "You know you shouldn't watch, but you can't look away. I personally like some of the... well, they're almost 'reality' shows, but they're less asinine. Half-way between documentaries and reality tv, like Scrapheap Challenge or Top Gear."

"Heard of the second one," said Ranma. "I know a couple of the Senshi like it, but I don't think I've ever watched either of 'em."

Dai said, "Oh, they're worth it. Creative stuff. The Top Gear guys did one of their 'road trip' specials on Mid Childa a few months ago, actually – it was entertaining as hell."

"Oh?"

Chuckling, Dai put on a fake British accent. "As Jeremy tried and failed to charm the policewoman, the thought occurred that we probably should have taken more than five minutes to brush up on the local traffic laws."

Ranma gave him an odd look.

"Well," said Dai, back in his normal tone of voice, "That wasn't the best part, anyway." He switched back to the accent. "Of course, now that we'd acquired our local cars, we needed to see who'd managed to pick the best one. To that end, we'd made our way here: the Mid Childa Saint's Speedway. And to even out the tests, all the cars would be driven by the same driver."

Aston took over, affecting his own, deeper, British accent. "That we had. Some say that seven of her fingers are wands, and that all her eyes are made of solid orichalcum. All we know is, she's _not_ The Stig, but she is The Stig's Magical Girl Cousin." The entire squad started chuckling at that.

"...I'm gonna guess ya hadda be there."

"You've seriously never watched the show before?"

Ranma shrugged. "I ain't a car guy. I live in Tokyo, man. I can get around way faster roof-hoppin' than I could with a car."

"You're missing out, man. You really are."

Ranma shook his head, began to chuckle. "We went from sparring to talking about Earth TV shows. I wish I could say this is the most surreal conversation I ever had."

"Stick around," said Aston. "We can be much more surreal when we want to."

* * *

The bridge was humming with energy and nerves when Ranma made his way up there, seeing a lot more people than usual. _Something's up._ Looking around, he spotted the bridge's status board, read it over. It had acquired some additional icons – another couple of ships had joined them. Most of the names he didn't recognize, but he spotted _Pauline_ among them. It'd been a while, and he smiled. _Glad they've made it through the war okay so far._

He spotted a knot of people near the command station, and another nearer the bow, next to the navigator's spot. The one near the bow had what looked like some complicated spell running – probably Ryoga getting scanned. Ranma made his way towards his friend.

Oh yeah, that was one _complicated_ lattice of spells around Ryoga. Two years of working closely with some damnably clever and inventive mages, especially Setsuna and Ami, had taught him how to pick out the details of delicate spellwork. Also a few tricks that he'd been told were impossible, but all that told him was that experts in any field could get tunnel vision. He knew he'd run into that particular trap where the martial arts where concerned, though he'd gotten better at getting _out_ of it.

He usually only had to get hurt once, these days, to start.

The fanged boy looked up from the stool he was slouching on at his approach. "Hey, Ranma."

"Hey, Ryoga." Ranma gestured at the glowing lattice surrounding him. "They're putting a lot into this."

Ryoga shrugged. "It's not what Lina and Zel used. Same sort of... tug, though." Another shrug. "Kinda wish I'd spent more time hanging around with the Senshi. Trying to figure out how this works'd be a nice distraction since none of these guys will _talk _to me."

Ranma blinked, swept a gaze across the gathered techs and mages. _Is there a problem?_ He Sent.

One of the techs glanced at him. _No, Enforcer Saotome. Just regulations. He's assaulted a TSAB agent._

Ranma rolled his eyes. _I'm the guy he went after, an' I say it's all good. Why not treat him like a person, and not just a thing?_

_ This is delicate work, Enforcer. _Tone didn't carry well in telepathic messages, but Ranma could fairly hear the 'snif' and implied 'not that an enforcer would know anything about delicate.' He looked over the lattice of spells again. He could see at least three points where he could disrupt the entire thing with one well-placed finger. Delicate and precision work he was good at.

_Well then. If it's too delicate for conversation, even with the whole bunch of you monitoring, maybe I should ask some of the officers to bring in some more help? Since it's so hard for ya._

_ That_ got their attention. The techs flinched, and the one who seemed to be in charge glared at him. He met the glare without flinching.

_Just tryin' ta help._

There was some venom in that glare, Ranma'd give the tech that much. But the older man broke the glare, turned back to his work. Gaze focused on one of the junction points of the spell-lattice, he said, "So, rumor has it you've worked with the Ace of Aces before, Hibiki?"

The fanged boy blinked, and smiled. "You mean Nanoha? Just the once, really. We were fighting some nasty oni on... I can't even remember what that planet was called. Some ugly mudball with bad food and filthy cities." A shrug. "I know she showed up in the Battle of Tokyo, but we didn't cross paths."

"Oh?"

"Well, it's a big city..."

Ranma smiled, exchanged nods with Ryoga, and turned towards one of the knots of officers. There was an uneasy feeling to the conversation around him. The kind of unease that had, so very many times in his life, foretold the brown stuff hitting the fan. _Of course it's complicated,_ he thought to himself. _When is anything I get involved in ever simple?_

Approaching the largest knot of officers – the one closest to the Admiral's command chair – he felt a slight mental pressure, one that he associated with lots of mages being all telepathic nearby. He was a little surprised at that, actually – the buzz of actual conversation was thick in the air as well. He waved to Captain Stevens when he spotted the older man, who blinked for a moment and mock-sighed.

"I should have known I wouldn't be shut of you."

"I'm like a bad habit, hard to get rid of." A brief pause as he looked at the display the Captain had been studying. "Gotta say, I'm glad you made it safe this far. I was a little worried about you guys."

The Captain snorted. "_Pauline_'s managed to stay out of the fighting. We've done some scouting, but we haven't been involved in the war directly." A slight smile. "The TSAB _does_ have more than just the Bradesons to deal with, after all."

"Heh, fair enough. So, why'd they tap ya for this fleet?"

"Wrong place at the right time. Headquarters felt Haralowan could use a few more ships in his screen, just in case, and we were convenient. We brought in a few more Enforcers as well – the situation has gotten more complex."

_Oh, that ain't woryin' ta hear at all,_ Ranma thought. "I'm guessing the bad kind of complex?"

"Almost certainly, though we're still trying to find out the extent. The dimensional barriers are for more than just keeping dimensions apart – they keep other things out. And we're seeing signs that some of those other things are leaking in."

Ranma winced. "That sounds really bad." He looked more closely around the group, and extended his ki senses. "Huh. Those Enforcers you brought in – Nanoha and Fate?"

"Among a few others."

"Mind if I excuse myself a minute? Been a while since I talked to them."

* * *

If Nanoha Takamachi didn't know for a fact that her partner was telepathically catching up with her brother, she wouldn't have guessed. Chrono was doing an admirable job of keeping up with the conversation with half a dozen captains and Enforcers, and going over the data that Headquarters had sent along. The situation was dangerous enough to get her back on the active roster, if only because they didn't have all that many S-ranks on hand who weren't already hip deep in some other problem.

And the fact that they were sending her in as much for her power as her history of working well with most of the other officers involved meant that her limiters were fully disengaged for the duration. It had been a while, and she enjoyed the feeling. The limters themselves weren't uncomfortable _per se_, but extended use of them was stifling.

Though she hadn't wanted to leave her little girl behind. At the very least, little Vivio was in good hands, in the care of her 'Unca Yuuno.' She enjoyed his company, and it seemed the researcher liked to tell her silly stories – the last time she'd stayed with him, she'd returned with tales of a talking Orangutan. She'd even said she'd met the ape in question.

Glancing around the crowded bridge drew a double-take. _Is that- _"Hello, Ranma. The uniform suits you."

The martial artist gave his usual cocky smile. "Thanks. Good ta see ya." He exchanged nods with Fate, and smiled almost apologetically at Chrono when the Admiral gave him a short glare for butting in. _Looks like yer doing okay,_ he Sent.

_I am, more or less. No really major disasters lately, and I've been enjoying my teaching as well as the occasional mission._

The mental equivalent of a chuckle. _About how I'd call my life the last few, too. An' I'm doing the sensei thing too. Amazin' how much ya can learn by teachin.'_ A pause. _Anyway. I'm guessing that the situation's gotten bad, if they're sending you out to help._

_ We don't know all the details yet, but it does indeed look like the situation is deteriorating._

_ Can ya fill an ignorant indig in? Too much jargon in the report on the display here..._

_ I'll do my best to simplify it._ She summarized the data they'd gathered – weaknesses in the dimensional walls, and creatures breaching them, as well as what that implied and what it could lead to. For all his comment of ignorance, he seemed to grasp the shape and scope of the problem quickly, and even managed to participate in the officer skull session, much to the irritation, and chagrin, of the TSAB officers. She strongly suspected that the Senshi, especially Ami, had rubbed off on him.

Soon enough, the officer's discussion was interrupted as a report came from the scryers: they were ready to trace the breaches in the dimensional walls. Chrono dismissed the gathered captains of his Task Force; they would begin their hunt now.

* * *

Colonel Blair hadn't flown a shuttle in a damn long time, but he understood why they were using one to transfer over to _Enterprise_ rather than, say, a _Broadsword_. Small as it was, they could probably have crammed _Concordia_'s science team into one of the big bombers, though a few of them would have had to sit in the turrets. But that would have been a rather... impolite way to show up to a meeting. He hadn't been in on the first meeting with _Enterprise_'s people, but the grapevine had most of the interesting bits: these 'Star Fleet' people were from something similar to the Terran Confederation. They were looking into the strange jump points and the things that came out of them in the name of Science, rather than security. And their ship was a vessel of scientific research and exploration.

_Sure it is,_ he thought, as the shuttle swung around the sleek ship's aft. _In the same way _Concordia_ is just a carrier. _

He wasn't totally sure why Tolwyn had tapped him to pilot this little flight. The Admiral still didn't like him much, and the feeling was mutual. He'd almost suspect it to be punishment detail, except the Admiral himself was aboard; he'd be conferring with Picard.

_Worry about that later. Let's get this tub landed. _He opened a comm channel. "_Concordia_ Shuttle Two to _Enterprise,_ requesting landing clearance."

_"Enterprise to Shuttle Two, permission granted. Do you see the beacon?"_

He glanced at the board. "Affirmative, _Enterprise_. Coming in now." Between the beacon signal and the ship's running lights, he could spot the landing bay. Eyeballing it, the shuttle would fit nicely, though he'd have to ease in. The thing, lit up by both the telltale sheen of a magcon field and internal lights, was shallow. Flying off of _Concordia_ had spoiled him, but he was good at his job; he'd be able to land in the tiny bay, even if he had to enter on bare minimum thrusters.

As he closed on the bay, he spotted one of _Enterprise_'s shuttles – either _Fraser_ or one of the same class – and let himself smile. He'd been hoping for a closer look at one of those things for a while now. They were an interesting design, one that implied all sorts of things about how these people's drives worked, and if he could get a few minutes to pick the brains of one of their pilots or ground crew, he'd love it. If not, well, he could take a close look. Sparks had ambushed him en route to the shuttle, more or less demanding that he find out how the things worked for her. He meant to try – ground crew that good was worth keeping happy.

"An impressive ship," said Admiral Tolwyn from behind him.

Blair started – he hadn't heard the older man approach. "Ah, that it is, Admiral."

"You're wondering why I picked you to fly this mission."

He hadn't expected that kind of, well, frankness from the Admiral. "Ah, a bit, Sir."

"We don't know enough about these people. I'd like to remedy that. I don't know how much you enjoyed your time in Special Operations, but Taggart thinks well of your abilities in those areas."

"You want me to play spook while the scientists work and you talk to the Captain?"

"Essentially, yes." Tolwyn shrugged. "If nothing else, swapping war stories with one of their pilots should be illuminating."

"I'll do my best, Admiral." He paused for a moment, as the shuttle crossed the shimmering barrier of _Enterprise's _magcon field, the sudden drag slowing the little ship. "I assume you want me to be polite?"

"Of course. We are, for the moment, guests." Tolwyn frowned. "And frankly, if half of what they say about their own scientific resources is true, they're far better equipped than we are to figure this out." A pause, and he continued in low tones. "And much as it pains me to admit it, Taggart was probably right to be concerned about this. If we could use these anomalies as jump points, so can the Kilrathi. We need to shut them down."

_Bad enough they just took Enigma. The last thing we want for the Cats is more strategic options._ "Agreed, sir." Carefully balancing the shuttle's thrusters, he set the ship down lightly, feeling the hydraulic give in the landing struts. He let out a breath. _That was about as smooth as their pilot's landing with us. I'd hate to look bad._ By memory, he set about the task of powering down as the science team unloaded, followed by Tolwyn. Meeting some of _Enterprise_'s crew, they proceeded out of the bay. The Admiral glanced back at the shuttle, met his gaze through the viewport, expression very clearly saying _'do not screw up and offend them.'_ He nodded.

_I hope you remember that, too, boss. You can be remarkably blunt at times._

_

* * *

_

Tom Paris was rather glad he was off duty right now. A lot of the exploring, he could take or leave. But getting a look at unfamiliar ships and tech? That he enjoyed. His inner gearhead wanted a closer look at some of _Concordia_'s toys, and his inner pilot backed it up, assuming he managed to get a closer look at one of their fighters.

The ship easing in to land next to_ USS Shuswap_ had the look of a bog standard shuttle, but it was still interesting. _Looks like he's playing it careful. Wonder if that's more drive limitations or the pilot being used to a bay as big as _Concordia's? A snort. _I wonder if they're using a shuttle for the same reason we went over in a Runabout: to not show off the transporters. Though keeping a couple tricks in reserve probably isn't that bad an idea._

The shuttle settled on its skids and unloaded several people. Most looked like science types, though there was a more... militant? Official? Disciplined? Air about most of them that he wasn't used to in science types. _Well, from what I can gather they've been locked in a full-scale war for a hell of a __lot longer than we were up against the Dominion. Probably that._ The group was followed by an obvious officer, who took a moment to give his pilot a Look.

Tom smiled; waited for the officer to leave the bay, and walked out of the control booth. He rounded the shuttle's corner in time to see the pilot exit, giving the shuttlebay and the _Shuswap_ a quick glance-over. "Welcome aboard," he said. "Lieutenant Tom Paris, navigator." He extended a hand.

The stranger, a slightly older man with brown hair and a scar on his chin, gave a lopsided smile and met his handshake. "Colonel Christopher Blair. Combat pilot and occasional taxi driver."

Tom turned towards the shuttle again, examining it's worn hull. "Looked like your boss was giving you a hard time."

A shrug. "Par for the course. You know how flag officers can be."

Tom snorted, thought of his father. "Do I ever. Guess some things are universal. So what do you normally fly?"

"Depends on the mission, really. I'm qualified on just about every fighter in the Confed inventory. A _Sabre_ more often then not, these days."

"The big delta-winged one?"

"Yeah. Yourself?"

Tom gestured broadly at the ship around them. "I drive this boat on the Alpha shift, but I prefer something nimbler, like the Runabouts or a Shuttle." A pause. _Oh why not? Even if he thinks I'm bragging, it might bring out some nice stories._ "Back at the Academy I was on the precision flight team, we flew some hot ships then." _Too hot, for some of us..._ he forced the memory down with the ease of long practice.

Blair relaxed against the side of his shuttle, looking over at _Shuswap_. "Sounds interesting. What say we swap stories?"

"Deal."

* * *

Seven of Nine rather enjoyed working with _Concordia_'s science team. They reacted to what she was, but only in the sense of seeing a lovely woman. Cyborgs, from what she could gather, were uncommon but hardly unknown in the Terran Confederation. They also went to work with a genuine enthusiasm that she hadn't expected at first.

"Most of the time, we're glorified engineers," explained one of them, a heavyset man with salt-and-pepper hair. "We take apart Kilrathi gear and figure out how it works. Doing actual _science _is a nice change of pace."

The youngest of them looked like the proverbial child in a candy store, amazed at the equipment he had a chance to work with. Though for all the limited equipment they'd had to work with on _ Concordia_ they had quite a bit of data, some of which _Enterprise _and _Copernicus_ had not gathered. The perspective helped them flesh out what they knew, which would likely prove very useful.

* * *

Torchlight flickered in the Mazoku hall.

A macabre feast was the order of the day, as the hundreds of gathered Mazoku made merry. It was unusual, for theirs was a race that seldom worked well together, but the master of this hall was a notorious loner, a General and High Priest who pursued his own agenda more often than not. Many had come because they were curious about why he would suddenly summon them to a meeting. Many more had come for spectacle and free meals. And a few had come because they owed fealty to the same Mazoku lord, Greater Beast Zelas Metallium, as the Mazoku who's hall they met in.

Xelloss seldom entertained. It was almost certainly something important that caused him to do so now.

The priest judged that he'd let the conversation last long enough – it was unlikely that any more of his brethren would join them at this late stage – and stood, banging the base of his staff against the floor for silence. A spell made the _crack_ of it striking stone carry through the entire hall, and he soon had the attentions of the gathered Mazoku.

He took a moment to survey the crowd, and ensure he had their attention. Then, "Fell tidings to you all, this night. I know you're wondering why I called you here tonight-"

From the back came a shout if "Who cares! I'm here for the food!" Xelloss smiled along with many of the gathered Mazoku.

"Well, that's fair enough. But not why I arranged this gathering." A pause, as if daring someone else to interrupt. "We have all felt, of late, disturbances in the aether. Something is drawing forth the energy of the Lord of Nightmares; pulling out of the Sea of Chaos and into this world. We have felt the shudders and pangs these have caused."

"That something is human. That something is harming our greatest Lord. And I propose... we make those responsible _suffer_ for what they have done." He gestured, and a silent spell formed a map upon the air before him, showing the great human city of Seyruun. "This, I think, would be the best place for our first blow to fall."


	9. Chapter 8

_Disclaimer: I own none of the 'verses this meanders through and make no attempt to claim them. This is a tribute and a tale for entertaining things and people. Please don't sue._

Chapter 8

Perhaps predictably, the Quorum of Twelve's reaction to learning that they had a new ally who was willing to take them in was to begin throwing barbed accusations at her. Laura Roslin was beginning to think that they were a punishment from the Gods for surviving where so many of her colleagues had not.

Roslin was almost growing resigned to it – in the days since they had met their rescuers and had begun talking, the Quorum's meetings with her had become even more bile-filled than the usual. But she, and Adama, were as sure as they could be that the Bradesons' offers were sincere. This latest meeting, with their Commodore speaking to the Quorum directly, had not convinced them.

At least this Joffery Hoss hadn't stormed out on them, leading his officers back to their shuttle at the meeting's close with polite professionalism. The man had a hauntedness to him, as though he had lost something dear to himself, but he seemed genuine in his desire to help.

Unfortunately, the Quorum had either not seen or deliberately ignored that. And now she was trying to deal with them without any backup.

The Gemenese representative on the Quorum was currently ranting about the dangers of associating with foreigners who worshiped strange gods and were, by their own admission, practitioners of the Dark Arts. Zarek and the others let her rant and rave, probably hoping that the fanatic would wear her down enough for them to score some cheap political points. Gods, she hated dealing with these idiots. There were times when she was tempted to let Adama take over the fleet and form some kind of junta, just so she wouldn't have to deal with them. But in the end, that wouldn't work. They had to keep the system that had kept the Colonies together. Falling into a dicatorship or otherwise losing their culture and history would be the same as letting the Cylons kill them: what made them great would be gone.

But knowing that didn't make dealing with them any easier. Gods grant her strength... she'd made it this far, chasing a dream. A dream she'd known was a lie – Bill Adama had lied to them all to give them hope and a reason to keep moving. Every hope that had come since then had been dashed by the Cylons, and every time they clashed they lost a few more people. Soon they would be too weak to resist. She didn't think Commodore Hoss' offer was a perfect, utopian solution, but it was a chance.

A chance she had to convince these fools they needed to take. She wished Baltar would give her some backup in this discussion, but the scientist was engrossed in his notes; ignoring the political wrangle and trying to figure things out. Nor did she have Adama's adamantine will and glare behind her – he had his damaged ship to tend to, and no desire to deal with politics.

And at the moment, she was inclined to agree with him.

* * *

Hoss hadn't needed to take a shuttle over to _Colonial One_ to confer with the 'government' of the refugee fleet, but he'd done so anyway, since rubbing the refugee's noses in the tech disparity between them would be bad form. It also gave him the time to hash things out with his new senior staff coming and going. "So," he said, glancing around the passenger compartment of the shuttle, "Impressions of these Colonials?"

Mage-Captain Dolce answered first. "The story they gave us matched most of the high points of the data we managed to recover from the Cylon wrecks. Both side's records put some vicious spin on things, though, the kind that you get from a Five Generation Feud."

Lieutenant Bombrad nodded. "That much hate between two groups, when they say the Cylons won't stop chasing them, they're probably right. But frankly, given what they engineered the Cylons for in the first place..."

"We've had our less moral moments in the republic, too, Lieutenant," reminded Hoss quietly. "And I'm not just talking about Admiral Kallson." He let the silence hang for a moment.

Dolce broke it. "Either way. The politicians seemed to be normal examples of that breed. But I'll admit, I was impressed by Adama and his second. They're tightly wound, but I got the distinct impression they're almost as good as they've said they are."

"They seemed to react badly to the idea of magic," said Bombrad. "I don't think they even knew it exists."

"Well, neither did Gima before we joined the Republic," said the Mage-Captain with laughter in his steel-coloured eyes. "And yet, here I am, a Giman Mage."

"A damn fine one, at that," said Hoss. "Their 'chief scientist' seemed a bit cracked."

Bombrad snorted. "He was probably some ivory tower professor before they lost their homeworlds. First time dealing with the real world, and it's a hell of a world for him." A shrug. "Amazing he's as sane as he is." A pause. "Permission to speak candidly, sir?"

"Granted."

"Do you really think Central is going to really going to approve sanctuary for these people? Their tech base isn't _that _impressive, and fifty thousand-odd people isn't enough to do much of anything with."

Dolce responded, "What's the old saying, 'alloys are stronger?' Different tech bases give a different perspective on things. Gima came up with some improvements to Bradeson power systems because we didn't know what 'everyone knows is impossible' with them. Who knows what these guys might come up with?" A shrug. "They're starfaring, and their tech base is solid. I figure they could contribute something. But everyone knows I'm a dirty Giman, not a homeworlder."

"And as far as them just being fifty thousand people, I can think of a few colonies that could use some more hands." Hoss shrugged. "That's what I suggested – they'll probably want to be together."

"Do you think the Council will go for it?"

Dolce shrugged. "Probably, if only because they want some _good_ press for the Navy these days." Then he froze, and shot a glance at the Commodore, expression suddenly very, very blank.

Hoss let the silence hold for a moment. _That hurts. It'll probably always hurt._ He closed his eyes for a moment, saw a vision of a distant battleship raining fire on an innocent, doomed city of thirteen million. Exhaling, his eyes opened again. "Yes. The Navy could use some good press. A relatively easy conquest turned into a war that's been running two years without conclusion, and it's coming up on an election year. Good press for us would probably help them. So these people are probably going to get their sanctuary if they want to accept it." A pause. "And I suppose I deserved that shot, Dolce. I'm not in the habit of biting the heads off of officers who disagree with me, especially when I specifically ask for their opinions first."

"Thank you, sir. That attitude is... less common than it was, in the Service these days."

* * *

The Raptor sat steady on the ship-lift as it locked into the deck, freshly returned from _Colonial One_. Chief Tyrol reached the ship first, his deck crew only a step behind, as the hatch hissed open. He and the Admiral traded salutes, and Adama and the XO made their way to the deck. "Welcome home, Sir."

"Thank you, Chief. How are the repairs coming?"

"We've got most of the armor damage repaired, and the heavy battery that the squids clipped is tracking properly again. The two point defense clusters they hit are write-offs, though. We're trying to cobble up replacements from our spares and the machine shops." _Not like we have enough raw materials for two cluster's worth._

Adama nodded sagely. "Well, do your best, Chief. Keep me posted." The flag officer headed for the hatch, clearly heading for CnC.

Tyrol glanced to Tigh. The one-eyed XO was stretching, as if working the kinks out of his back. "How'd it go, sir?"

"Well enough, I think. Commodore Hoss' a bit of an odd fellow, but he seems sincere. We've been offered sanctuary. He's got to talk to his superiors, and the President and the Quorum are hashing it out too, but if all goes well, we might have a safe place to go."

Silence filled the hanger at those words. Tyrol broke it quietly. "Safe... from the Cylons?"

Tigh's grin lacked his usual savagery, instead being filled with satisfaction. "Yep. Somewhere they can't follow at all. If this goes through, we'll never have to deal with the frakking Toasters again." He spared a small nod at the Raptor's pilot, as Athena dismounted the ship. "Present company excepted. No offense."

The Skinjob's smile was thin, her voice dry. "None taken." The dark skinned woman shook her head, muttering something darkly under her breath as she stalked towards the locker rooms.

Anders, who'd been helping with tug-and-plug duty in the repairs, joined them. "Safe from the Cylons. Almost sounds like a dream."

"A damn fine dream," said Tigh, looking as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

"So say we all," muttered Tyrol.

"So say we all," agreed Anders.

* * *

Gourry Gabriev lowered himself carefully from the back of his sweat-soaked horse, handing the reigns to a stableboy who lead the exhausted animal to the nearest watering trough. The swordsman thought about following for a moment, but shook his head. He'd swapped mounts at every courier station along his route and he'd still damn near killed three horses getting back, he'd been in such a hurry. He owed those poor beasts to make his report quickly, after all that.

He made his way quickly into the castle, heading for the workrooms that Lina and Zel had staked out, ignoring the little voice that told him it was time to stake out a couch and rest. At least for the moment.

Zelgadiss met him at the door. "Gourry. What did you find?"

"You were right," said the swordsman, glancing around the workroom. There were new runes chalked onto the walls. "It's not just some raids or a few rampaging monsters. There's a full blown army of Mazoku on the march."

The chimaera swore quietly. "I'd hoped the rumors were inaccurate. That's bad."

"It gets worse. They aren't exactly in a hurry, but I'm pretty sure they're heading this way."

Zelgadiss glanced at the swordsman. "Oh?"

Gourry felt one hand close into a fist involuntarily. He couldn't quite relax it. "Two towns, burned and demolished. I saw what looked like a couple of farms lit up, too. I'd have to double-check a map, but I think Seyruun is the first real city in their path." The fist tightened again, and he punched the nearest wall. "And I couldn't. Do. Anything."

He felt his friend's hand rest on his shoulder. "Getting back with confirmation is the best anyone could do against an army alone. You, me, even Lina, couldn't stand up against an army of Mazoku."

Quietly, "I know. I still hate it." He let out a breath, forced himself to calm. "How is she?"

"I'm doing better," said Lina, emerging from the back of the workroom. "We've got new wards up; they're blunting the surges."

He turned, they both carefully didn't quite look into each-other's eyes. "Good to hear, I guess. Any idea what was causing them?"

"Yes, actually," said Zelgadiss. The chimaera moved to the main worktable, picked up a sheet of parchment. "One of the royal astrologers was observing the heavens with a glass when one of the surges hit. He saw these."

Gourry looked at the sheet. The drawing was rough, but the shape... "Some kind of... ship?"

"Several of them, he claims."

"Sky ships. Like the ones we saw with..." Gourry trailed off, mind blanking on the name of the two female mages who'd helped them slay Mazoku on another world.

Lina gave him a withering look. "Nanoha and Fate." Under her breath, she muttered, "Sometimes I wonder how he remembers his own name..."

"Doesn't look like theirs, though."

"I agree," said Zel. "_Pauline_ had a rather distinct double-prow, and even at great distance, something like that would be visible. That ship didn't do... this sort of thing, either."

Gourry raised an eyebrow. "What are these guys doing?"

"The ships seem to be causing the surges," said Lina bluntly. "They've been seen since, and the timing matches." She paused, then continued. "And I know why they were hitting me so hard. Somehow, whatever those ships are doing when they appear and disappear, they're pulling a lot of magical energy from the Sea of Chaos into this world. It's hitting mages, and users of black magic in particular."

"And because Lina is one of the few who can draw upon the Lord of Nightmares, it's hitting her even harder," said Zelgadiss. "Probably hitting some of the Mazoku, as well, since they tend towards the black magics." He went to a shelf, pulled down a map. Briefly, the three adventurers traced the Mazoku's path of destruction, and the mages agreed with the swordsman: they likely were coming to Seyruun. Quickly, a messenger was sent to deliver the dire news to Prince Philionel.

"Still, why attack Seyruun first? With the city's White Magic Seal, and the Temple of Ceifeed... It's a fortress against their kind." Zel shook his head.

"That might be why," said Lina. "Hit this place first, while their army is strongest, and they've got the best chance of taking it." She sighed. "I wish I knew who was leading that army... we might be able to research something useful before they arrive."

Gourry's reply was a growl. "Our old friend the false priest."

Lina and Zel facefaulted.

"X-xelloss?" asked Lina incredulously.

"That's what they were saying." The blonde swordsman's face screwed up in a scowl. "I managed to get close to one group. They were... busy." He paused, let out a breath. "Xelloss' name came up. There were too many of them for me to try and take them on. Shinzoku, I wish I hadn't given up the Sword."

"Xelloss. Leading an army?" Zel shook his head. "That's crazy. He'd never do something so... overt."

"It has to be some kind of cover.. he's got to have some kind of other plan..." Lina was nodding. "We just have to figure out what it is."

_Before it blows up in our faces, _went unsaid, but all three heard it.

* * *

Xelloss was well familiar with the concept of a stalking horse. He was quite fond of it, under most circumstances. A stalking horse could be incredibly useful, a way to distract a target and provide one's self with entertainment and spell fodder. He'd used Lina Inverse and her companions as stalking horses many a time, and the female mage's reaction to the situation was always priceless and entertaining.

But ye merciless Ma-ō, he purely _hated_ being on the other side of that coin. _Be loud. Be obvious. Be a massive distraction and threat. _Make _them react to you. We know the Enemy Of All That Live is in Seyruun, and Philionel's whelp and her advisers know you. Let it be known that you are __leading our army, and they'll second-guess themselves so badly they won't be able to do anything decisive. They'll dance to our tune and we shall crush them. And should Ceifeed or her minions interfere, we'll be right there to play hammer to your anvil._

All in all, it wasn't a terrible plan. Whoever or whatever was interfering with the Sea of Chaos, it was increasing the amount of power they could draw upon for their black magics; they would likely not see a better chance to take the advantage over the Shinzoku and wipe out humanity and the other assorted lives on this world. The Shinzoku were foolish enough to tie themselves to their followers and holy places; the destruction of Seyruun and its temples would be a great blow to Flare Dragon Ceifeed. And if anyone other than him was playing the distraction, he'd probably be all for it.

Though a part of him _was_ somewhat amused at the thought of Lina and company second guessing themselves into madness.

_And I can't even tell any of those following me about the real plan – that we're all, essentially, spell fodder – or my doubts. I do so hate it when Zelas gets _specific _in her instructions to me. Ma-ō, under any other circumstances I'd love this- a fine distraction for my own schemes. I shall have to make due, and be ready to crush any minions of the Shinzoku who dare show themselves._

_Else they might crush me._

_

* * *

_

Naga the Serpent stared at the sky from the inn's balcony, deep in thought.

This fact _terrified_ the inn's proprietor and his wife, who knew her reputation for gregariousness and thought that for her to be so withdrawn could only mean she was in some kind of distress. Having spent their lives building the inn into a fairly serious concern, the presence of a distressed sorceress under their roof was unnerving.

_An army of Mazoku marches on Seyruun._

The thought ran through Naga's mind, and she shuddered. Seyruun. Home. A home she'd left; a birthright she'd abandoned years before. A home in peril.

Does that really matter? She thought. Seyruun had faced peril before; had survived it thanks in no small part to the aid of her old sidekick and her companions. But this... it was no single mazoku, no assassin. An army of mazoku... Even with the Temple and the wards, no human city could stand against that. Her father... her sister... old friends... All would likely die if the city was razed, with no stone resting atop another.

Naga walked back into her rented room. Pawing among her bags, she pulled a particular one from the pile. She sat on the bed, looked at the bag, lost in thought once more. When she had left home, she'd packed it; part of her past life. She had not truly thought of it in years. But it was time that she did.

The blouse was tight – she had not quite reached her full growth when it was tailored – but it was close enough. The skirts and cloak still fit, though they were musty from their long stay within the bag. Her customary spiked shoulderguards would not fit with the rest of this- their style alien to that of the finery. Her usual circlet was removed, replaced by one more delicately worked, amazingly still intact and untarnished. Her sword belt seemed a bit plain with the ensemble, but not so much that it would be unacceptable. Taking a deep breath, Naga the Serpent crossed the room and looked into the full-length mirror.

Gracia Ul Naga Seyruun stared back at her. For a long moment she stood there, silent and contemplative, as if weighing the step she meant to take, and then nodded decisively. Her kingdom was in distress. It was time for the adventuress to step down, and let the princess re-emerge.

* * *

_Combat space patrol missions are at their best when they're dull. Dull means nobody's trying to __kill you._ Flight Leader Corran Horn, New Republic Starfighter Command, reminded himself of that as his X-Wing kept pace with Ooryl Qrygg's as the two pilots flew cover.

_Mon Remonda _and her task force – two other Mon Cal cruisers, a _Carack_ cruiser, two Correlian Corvettes and pair of survey ships – were scouring a nameless system where one of the Empire's wonder ambushes had taken place. What they were looking for, Corran didn't know. He wasn't a scientist. He was a cop, a pilot, and a half-trained Jedi. His cop's eye hadn't seen anything remarkable about the system that might make it suited for the sort of ambush the Empire had pulled off – though without knowing _how_ in the name of the Sith they were pulling them off in the first place it was hard to be sure. Neither did his pilot's eye – the system was utterly unremarkable. But to his only partially trained Jedi abilities... something about this place was... off.

He wished he'd taken more time with Skywalker to improve those abilities, but the war had pressed. _And quashing a certain idiotic Bothan's ego was important too._ He smiled at the memory of Fey'lya's expression when he'd turned Luke down flat to fight Isard. _Pity the fuzzy bastard didn't stay quashed. The Empire gets rolling hard again and he plays politics to try and sink our best fighting Admiral. Idiot._

The off feeling he was picking up seemed to be getting stronger. He was getting a little unnerved by it. _Stay calm, Horn. Treat it like a stakeout._ He let out a deep breath, leaned back into his pilot's couch. _Come to think on it, didn't the force sensitive in the Wraiths mention something about this place being uncomfortable, too? Let's play a hunch, if this is so much like a stakeout._

Drawing to mind a handful of the breathing exercises and meditation techniques Skywalker had taught him, he extended his senses. Flying nearby, he felt Ooryl's presence nearby in his fighter. None of the other wing-pairs currently on patrol were within his(admittedly rather limited) range, so he couldn't really compare things... but somehow, for the range, the Gand's energy felt... strange. Like there was something in the way, blocking his view. He tried to focus on that something.

It was like grabbing a handful of smoke. The harder he focused, the less he seemed to be able to feel anything. It was frustrating – he'd not had so much trouble trying to _look_ at something this way since before he'd started consulting with Skywalker. _Wait.. what's this?_

In his Force senses, something _twisted_, and space was filled with a vile, gut twisting sense of _wrongness_, so strong as to be overwhelming.

Perhaps thirty seconds later, he came too, the sound of Whistler's wailing breaking through his fugue – and he saw something that looked like a Mon Cal's worst nightmare bearing down on him; tentacles and fury and a soul-chilling _wrongness_ that hurt to feel. Instincts honed by years of being a fighter pilot got him out of the line of it's charge, and only then did he realize that his radio was going.

"Sorry about that, Ten," he said, interrupting Ooryl. "My head's back in it. Talk to me."

"You worried Ten, Nine. What happened?"

"Some kind of Jedi thing, I think – that thing is messed up." Whistler blatted a warning, and he pulled the snubfighter into a bootlegger turn to avoid some kind of blast.

"Nine... there are dozens of them."

Corran felt a lump of armor-grade durasteel settle into his guts, churning them more than they already are. He checked his scanners. "Ah. I see, Ten. Let's get back to _Mon Remonda _to help."

* * *

Scores of spaceborne monsters besieged the task force.

The majority were small things, the size of snubfighters, but they were tenacious and blasted at their foes with bolts of azure energy. At the heart of the formation were five massive things, each roughly seven-hundred meters long, and trading fire with the Mon Cal cruisers and their escorting ships. The MC-80s were giving as good as they got, holding four of the creatures at bay, but the last one was tearing all hell out of the _Carack _and laying into the surveyors and the Corellian Corvettes with a will. One of the survey ships was limping away, shields battered down and half her sensors fried.

Two squadrons of B-Wings were making a run against that creature, Ion cannons raining fire and proton torpedoes falling like high-explosive hail. As Corran's flight closed enough to make out more than flashes, he saw the Y-Wing squadron off of _Mon Karen_ add their fury, as a group of A-Wings streaked through, blasters raking fire along one of the thing's flanks. Their speed, normally armor enough, proved insufficient for one of the fleet little machines, engulfed in a bolt of energy cast by the beast.

It looked like most of the X-Wing groups were concentrating on clearing out the little bastards – Corran still couldn't look at them too closely without his head starting to throb and his stomach twist – and the Corellian and the Gand angled their approach vector to give them a good line of fire against a pair of beasts at the group's fringe.

He got on the comm. "Rogue Nine to Rogue Leader – sorry we're late; one of them jumped us out on patrol."

"Leader to Nine, glad you could make it. Since you're late, you're buying the drinks when we're off duty."

Slowly, but with growing momentum, the smaller creatures were destroyed. Continued exposure didn't make taking their... wrongness.. any easier, but Horn gutted it out. As the X-Wings and most of the A-Wings dealt with the small fry, the Cruisers overwhelmed one, then a second of the four gargantuan beasts they faced; able to concentrate their fire more decisively, the remaining two fell in short order as the heavy assaults of the B-Wings and support ships finally brought the last one low. The task force had won.

But the victory had been costly. _Mon Karen_ was damaged, one of the surveyors and a Corellian Corvette had been destroyed outright, and the rest of the support ships had been savaged. The beasts had taken a heavy toll on the fighters as well – there were going to be a lot of empty beds in pilot country tonight.

And for all the flash and fury, they knew nothing about what these mystery foes were or where they'd come from. And all of them knew, that could only be a bad thing.

* * *

Sensor watch on _Concordia_ was an important but frequently boring job. Barring a strike force of _Strakhas_, damn little would be able to close on them without being spotted by the CSP this far from a jump point.

And _Strakhas_ might be a wash with _Enterprise_ and her sensors nearby. _Concordia_'s tech team/boffins had returned from the other craft with tales of incredibly sophisticated sensors and survey equipment, backed by analytical computers that put their own to shame. It had started the rumor mill a-churning, as had the observation of one of the pilots that when Picard first saw Tolwyn, he looked like he'd just seen a ghost. Everyone was trying to figure out what, if any, significance that had. If nothing else, it annoyed the Admiral, and he could be amusing when annoyed.

Well, amusing when observed for a slight remove. Tolwyn's sense of humor had gone right to shit lately. You didn't want to be right there when something set him off.

Still, all in all it was looking to be a reasonably peaceful watc-

Beyond the bridge, light flared like God's own flashbulb, and the proximity alarms began to wail.

* * *

_Captain's Log, stardate 55635.2. Though the technology with which they work is less sophisticated than our own, _Concordia_'s science team has proved quite useful in our attempts to trace down the source of these troublesome anomalies. They provided a different perspective, and their __knowledge of Jump Drive Physics – the Terran Confederation's version of Warp Drive – they shed light on some mysteries that had been confusing us. Our own science team, including the has worked well, both with the Confederates, and with the Science Division team assigned to this mission._

There was a pause in the recording, as Picard tried to find his voice again. _In particular, I must praise Seven of Nine, who has proved invaluable in incorporating the various fields of knowledge we are working with in this endeavor. Despite working in an environment hostile to her, she has endured. She should be commended for her efforts._

_ I am left to ponder our new allies. _Concordia_ seems a mighty ship, one built by a people long embroiled in a war as vicious as any in the Federation's history. Their commander reminds me of Tolian Soran, in more than just his appearance. He seems a driven man, though one who loves his people desperately. I do not entirely trust him, or his people, but this alliance of convenience still has a chance to work. With some fortune, we should be able to solve this situation shortly._

Picard ended his log recording, sat back at his desk. He forced himself to relax, tried to loosen some of the tension in his back muscles. It was no good. He was starting to think that the entire situation was starting to spiral out of all control. He was more diplomatic than Admiral Tolwyn, but they were both willful men, and neither of them _liked_ this situation, not by any stretch. Both believed it to be important, if not essential, to learn what was causing these creatures to appear, and what exactly the anomalies they created were doing.

And it didn't help that Tolwyn's sheer intensity reminded him far, far too much of Dr. Soran. There seemed to be almost a touch of madness in the Admiral, though given that he'd been fighting a war for most of two decades, from what Picard had gathered, that was, perhaps, inevitable. Still-

The Red Alert klaxons began to wail. _"Bridge to Captain Picard, we have an unidentified fleet of ships – they just appeared to port."_

"Ships, not more creatures?" He stood, quickly crossed his ready room and into the bridge.

"Aye, sir," said the officer of the watch. "Ships." The watch officer surrendered the Captain's chair almost gratefully.

"Open hailing frequencies."

"Channel open, Captain."

"This is Captain Jean Luc Picard of the USS _Enterprise_ to unknown fleet. Identify yourselves."

Half a moment later, the starfield on the main viewer was replaced by the image of a young man with cobalt-blue hair. _"I am Admiral Chrono Haralowan of the Time-Space Administration Bureau. We are investigating a series of dimensional breaches, and do not intend hostilities."_

_ You bring almost twenty ships and you claim you _aren't_ looking for trouble,_ thought Picard. "We, also, are investigating dimensional anomalies. Perhaps we might pool our resources."


	10. Chapter 9

_Disclaimer: I do not own these universes or series and I make no claim upon them. This tale is meant simply as a bit of fun and a tribute to stories I have very much enjoyed. Please don't sue, I'm poor._

Chapter Nine

Tom Zarek was nowhere near as unhappy with the situation as he looked, but the look was important to keep up. A world! A planet! A place to live that wasn't a stinking, too-crowded ship or half a step up from a swamp! By the _gods_, he was for it. But that didn't mean he'd give the Schoolteacher an inch. In a place of safety, it would be well and truly time to _break_ her hold on their people and their government, and he meant to do so decisively.

_We'll be safe. The fear she likes to prey upon won't be enough to hold the people back. The fear I like to use, too, but I think I can redirect it at Roslin easily enough. It shouldn't be too hard to make it look like the Quorum is the only thing looking out for the interests of the 'little people.'_

Adama wouldn't like it, of course, but there were ways around that small-minded, militaristic asshole. Possibly by using another militaristic asshole to dispose of him, at least temporarily. The Bradesons finding them had been a happy accident, after all, not something they were doing on purpose. Though the fact that they'd been able to move _Galactica_ and the entire civilian fleet in one go to their new home – the colony world Masira – suggested that it wasn't exactly a major waste of their time.

He'd had one chat with Hoss, and his frankly unnerving assistant Dolce. He felt that he'd done well, not letting the 'mage's inhuman eyes distract him too badly from getting information. The time was more or less a wash for Hoss' people anyway – they had to track down the source of the Voidspawn anyway, which was, it seemed, a non-trivial pursuit so far as time went.

_I bet we could convince them to accept a gesture of gratitude and assistance. Like _Galactica_. Now, to sell the idea to the Quorum, and let them talk Roslin into it. Her own arguments about our new home being safe might just work to take away her power base, and by not taking the most remote of the settlement sites they showed is, we've made a concession to her. Time to call that favor in. Without Adama and his thugs looming over us, she'll be much easier to deal with._

_

* * *

_

Joffery Hoss sighed as he sat back from his desk. The logistics of a colony were hardly his area of expertise, but in the end he didn't think they could be _that _much more complex than the logistics of a ship. He had taken the time to help direct some resources moved to the sight of the Colonial's new settlement and had politely watched the first meeting between President Roslyn, the Quorum, and the administration on Masira. They'd been very pleased at the infusion of fifty-thousand newcomers, and had shared survey information about several areas they'd pegged as possible locations for future cities.

As the ships capable of if began to land, the Colonials had picked a site. Distant from the existent colonists, but not the most distant of the sites. It wouldn't be the easiest life, but given what they'd been through, settling in the foothills of a new world would doubtless be an improvement.

And he'd seen Adama, that hoary old soldier, relax for what looked like the first time in far, far too long. As an old sailor who'd felt too much pain in his time, he was glad to be able to help with that, even if the help was for a relative stranger.

_Speaking of..._ his console was beeping. "Commodore Hoss here."

_"Sir, we have a transmission from _Galactica. _Their commander is asking to speak with you."_

"Put him through."

The worn face of William Adama replaced his subordinate. _"Good afternoon, Commodore. My political masters-" _that was tinged with a measure of distaste, so he probably wasn't talking about his President - _"Have instructed me to make myself useful. Our people should be safe enough here, especially since you've got those defense stations in orbit, so we'd like to offer our assistance hunting down those Voidspawn." _A pause. _"Truth to tell, I wouldn't mind another crack at them. They killed __several of my people in that attack."_

"It's an interesting offer, Admiral." _Tempting, too – for all your ship is oversized and underpowered, your pet scientist is a genius and your people are skilled and motivated._ "I'd have to think about it." _Well, no point in being so polite about it we don't learn anything. _"You mentioned it's an idea of your politicians?"

Adama looked like he'd just taken a bite of something vile. _"It's part bribe, part gratitude. Basically, 'make yourself useful so that we're more valued.'"_

"Well, the support is absolutely appreciated." A pause, as he pondered the situation. "If you're willing, I wouldn't be opposed to it." _If nothing else, they can plink away at the smaller ones. And the perspective might just be helpful. Alloys are stronger._

_"In that case, I'll finish sorting out my people. How long until you're ready to sortie?"_

"Another six hours, I think, between maintenance and reports."

_"We'll be ready."_

_

* * *

_

The Grand Admiral's antechamber was, predictably, darkened. Janos Harbid wondered for a moment why Thrawn let his bodyguard scare half the life out of his officers on a regular basis, and sighed, feeling himself tense up despite his best efforts. "Captain Harbid of _Death's Head_ reporting to the Grand Admiral."

The expected voice of Rukh didn't come. Harbid blinked, looked around the darkened room again. _What in the name of the Sith?_ Seeing no sign of the Noghri, he took a step deeper into the room, then another, looking around constantly. No sign of the creature. _Perhaps he's taking a break. Should I just go in?_

He continued to the hatch that lead to the Grand Admiral's main audience chamber, hesitated again. On the one hand, it would be a gross violation of military courtesy to simply go in unannounced. On the other, it seemed that the being who should actually announce him wasn't-

"The Grand Admiral will see you now," mewled a voice just behind his left ear.

Harbid jumped, twisting in midair towards the wiry alien, one hand clawing at where he wore a blaster when planetside. After a few moments, he got his racing heart under control, took a deep breath. "You get some kind of sick enjoyment out of doing that, don't you?"

"My hunting skills might someday save the Admiral's life." Harbid wasn't an expert on alien facial expressions, but he could swear Rukh was grinning. "It is in all our interests to keep him alive, and so I take any opportunity to practice those skills."

Harbid exhaled slowly, smoothed his collar. "Fair enough. Either way, I have a report to make."

The alien was _definitely_ grinning now. "Go ahead." He palmed a control, and the hatch opened.

Harbid proceeded through it, and into a gallery of paintings. He vaguely recognized the stylings of them, but could not place them. _If it's important, the Grand Admiral will tell me._ "You asked to see me, Sir?" he asked, looking to the Grand Admiral's console.

"Indeed. Have you determined how the Engine functions, yet?"

Harbid swallowed. "We have not yet puzzled out the details, Sir. We've had the Omnisians under full observation for the last several days, and have monitored their quarters extensively as well as as much of the device in operation as possible. My engineers believe they are _close_ to working it out, but as yet, there are several... incidents... in the Engine's operation that defy our study."

Red eyes narrowed. "Oh?"

_Don't panic. This isn't Vader. "_Ah, the full details are in my report, Admiral. That said, there are a number of points during the operation of the Engine where it seems to draw power from... well, nowhere we can determine. There is simply a surge of additional energy flowing within the device without a concurrent drain on the ship's power systems." He tensed slightly – not a Vader, but no flag officer liked hearing this sort of thing. "My engineers are still trying to figure out where that energy is coming from. They've also tried to politely ask the Omnisians, but they're getting nothing but the usual dogmatic nonsense."

For a long moment, Thrawn simply sat in his command chair, hands folded in front of him, those glowing eyes boring into Harbid's own. To his credit, the Captain managed to hold that gaze without flinching. Then the Grand Admiral broke the silence. "I see. Omnisian Techno-Mystics have a reputation for making technology do the impossible." A brief silence, then, "And the covert probing of their quarters?"

"Ah, well, I've continued under the assumption that you still wanted us to be polite in our... inquiries, Admiral." A pause – the Admiral nodded, and he continued. "We've tried most of our more passive scans and monitoring devices, but they've come up with very little. The Omnisians have ceased talking to each other entirely even in private. From what we can tell, they all seem to have... gained some cybernetics, and might be using those to communicate with each other. But we haven't been able to detect commlink activity, or signs that they're trying to slice the ship's computer. They _have_ destroyed just about every holo- or pic- equipped microdroid we've snuck into their quarters. They just... stand there, in some kind of meditative pose during what would normally be a sleep cycle, and leave to perform maintenance and religious rights around the Engine, as well as coming to the Bridge when we need them to operate it."

"I see." Red eyes glowed. "The Techno-Mystics have a tendency to become very obstinate when asked to explain what they consider to be religious matters to outsiders. Instruct your engineer to continue speaking with them, they may be receptive if they think he is a potential convert."

"Aye, sir."

"For now, please continueyour observations. And prepare for our next operation."

"Understood, Admiral."

"Dismissed."

* * *

_ Well,_ thought Harbid, _This is more... elaborate than normal._

He'd sent word ahead, when he'd boarded his shuttle to return to _Death's Head_ that they should make ready for their next operation. Normally, the Techno-Mystics would be informed, but would not make their appearance until perhaps half a standard hour before it was time to sortie. They still had hours to go, but they were already in position. Half on the Bridge, performing their eerily-silent rites around the Engine's controls, and the rest in Engineering, surrounding the Engine itself. Incense swirled around the bridge, carried by the currents of the ship's air recyclers, thick enough to see and smell it's sharp odor.

He walked up to Nassistor. "Is there a problem, Techno-Mystic?"

Eerie, no-longer-natural eyes glowed at him, one pale blue, the other amber, as Nassistor turned from his meditation. "Not a problem, Captain. Simply... preparations. Your Grand Admiral would have us move far greater a mass of ships today than we would normally."

_Well, yes,_ thought Harbid. _This is going to be a serious assault. _"Is that a problem?"

"Not a problem, merely... complicated."

"Can the Engine handle the strain of this fleet?" True, it never seemed to have a problem before, but there was a marked difference between the forces they'd moved around and the one they planned to move today. Over sixty ships, all told, a third of them Imperial Star Destroyers, and another dozen Victory Iis

"The gift of She Who Is As Gold is capable, but we who rendered it are mortal. It cannot encompass the fullness of Her power, and as such, the Engine requires additional preparations. But it will serve Grand Admiral Thrawn's pruposes quite adequately."

"See that it does," said Harbid. He turned towards the crew pit, left the Techno-Mystics to their dogmatic nonsense. And he tried to ignore the sinking feeling that gripped his stomach. _I have a bad feeling about this._

_

* * *

_

Ryoga massaged his temples, trying to kill off the mounting headache before it got too bad. _I can't start smashing stuff up. Stupid mages and their stupid magic ship, half the alloys its' built from don't have breaking points, and I don't know how many walls are between me and vacuum. And there's even more high-end mages aboard now so I'd just get slapped down._

He sighed. "I can't believe you had me sitting in this stupid magic thing for five hours yesterday and you didn't even get the destination right." He was back in that same web of spells, surrounded by annoyed techs.

"We're not terribly happy about it either, Hibiki," said the lead tech. "Your energy signature's changed, it's not a proper match anymore, without your family curse."

Ryoga made a rude noise. "So sorry my life suddenly _not_ being totally fucked up messes up your scans. It's nice, actually being _there _when my parents make it in, being able to go and see my girlfriend, and being reasonably sure I'll have a roof over my head at night." True, his parents were never home long, but even a conversation over breakfast before they went to grab the morning paper and vanished was a major improvement over sticky notes.

The tech held up his hands in a pacifying gesture. "Whoa, calm down Hibiki. I'm not trying to antagonize you."

"Sorry. Family's a bit of a... sticky subject."

"Understandable. I imagine it wasn't fun growing up with a curse like that. And we should be able to get the source nailed this time." A pause. "Though I doubt the newcomers will be any help."

"Why not?"

"No magic. And while I don't know about this 'Terran Confederation,' we know from your last incident that the United Federation of Planets uses antimatter as a fuel source. That's beyond crazy and into outright stupidity."

"My last- wait, you guys ran into _Voyager_?"

"Yeah. It might please you to know that you managed to get them home before buggering off."

Ryoga blinked. He hadn't really thought about that. "Oh. That's good to know, I guess. And that's who we've run into?"

"Not _Voyager_ herself, but another ship from the same fleet. The Admiral's going to have a talk with some of their people now."

* * *

_I wonder who we think we're fooling,_ thought Tom as he guided USS _Fraser_ from _Enterprise_'s shuttle bay. He put the Runabout in a lazy turn, heading for _Claudia_, where the three groups would compare notes and track down the source of these damnable squids. "_Fraser _to _Enterprise_, we are clear of the bay and proceeding."

_"Acknowledged, _Fraser,_ keep us posted."_

"Take your time, Lieutenant," said Picard from behind him. "Let's get a look at these ships."

"Aye, sir." _Odd. You'ld think he'd want to get there faster, get himself out of arms reach of Seven._ The former Borg was along for the trip, representing the Science team, and while Picard wasn't being anything other than professionally polite, it was clear from his manor that he didn't actually _want _to be anywhere near her. _Which I suppose is kinda understandable, given his history._

Picard looked like he was gathering his thoughts for the moment, then he said, "Lieutenant Paris, Seven of Nine... I've read _Voyager_'s reports about this TSAB, of course, but I feel... I do not know as much as I should, here. If I recall correctly, you've met this Admiral Haralowan before, yes?"

"Briefly," said Seven. "He is intelligent and inquisitive. What I observed of his subordinates suggests that he is a fair man."

"He's a family man, too," said Tom. "Most of what I know, I got third-hand. Harry – er, Ensign Kim, played tour guide for a while and talked with his bodyguard. She mentioned that he's got kids at home. He's got a rep as being tough but fair to his people, and he tends to get handed weird assignments because he's good at them." A shrug. "I didn't actually talk with the guy myself."

"Well. You both have more knowledge than I do, and I would appreciate any speculation you might share."

* * *

Ranma hadn't _intended_ to be late to the staff meeting, it had just sort of... happened. Why in the kami's names they had people using mops and buckets to clean the deck on a ship loaded with magic was entirely beyond her. Punishment detail, probably. And she wouldn't have been late if the moron with the mop had kept his trap shut after she got soaked. Baka.

Still, she wasn't _that_ late. Didn't stop Chrono giving her That Look when she popped through the hatch of _Claudia_'s conference room. _Sorry boss, got sidetracked._ She took her seat, poured a glass of water from one of the pitchers at the table. One of the newcomers, wearing an unfamiliar blue uniform, was talking animatedly, a torrent of technical stuff that the martial artist couldn't quite follow.

_What are you doing?_

_ Swappin' back. Ran into some idiot with a mop on my way here._ Concentrating, she moved her hands around the glass, a subtle bit of Firebending calling heat between them. She'd not taken as much time as she really wanted to practicing Firebending, but unless and until she figured out how to do Mushi's fire-killing push, it was a _tad_ bit too dangerous to play with in a building she owned. It was tightly keyed to emotional ki, pride and passion worked well and she had a feeling that anger would be even better. But it was dangerous and more than a little tricky to control, so she was _not _about to start teaching it to her various students, not until she was sure she'd mastered it.

But this? She smiled as steam began to curl from the glass of water. This she could do. This was _incredibly_ useful. Glass upended, the dress uniform's tunic suddenly stopped being tight across her chest and became tight across his shoulders. He shrugged them a few times, getting himself comfortable.

At which point he realized the room had gone dead quiet. "What?"

Everyone who wasn't TSAB was looking at him like he'd just sprouted a second head. Chrono was giving him a look that promised one hell of a bitching-out later, when the need to present a united front was past. The group in blue – _Terran Confederation_, his memory supplied, placing scuttlebutt to people – looked totally confused. The others, Starfleet if he remembered the descriptions from Ryoga's tales, wore mixed expressions. Some of them, the bald guy in red and black in particular, seemed as confused as the Confeds. The others – the blonde with the messed up ki(he figured she was probably some kind of cyborg- life energy twirling around metal and circuits) was giving him a blank look; the youngish guy next to Baldy was trying not to chuckle.

* * *

Tom glanced at Captain Picard again, and found it even harder that it had been not to laugh. He'd read the reports, but he clearly hadn't believed them. Glancing around the table, he could see Haralowan fixing the latecomer with a glare. _Magic. And based on what she(he?) just did, I think I know who this is._ "Ranma Saotome?"

The stranger blinked. "That's me. How..."

"Ryoga mentioned you."

"You're the guys P-chan ran into? Pleased ta metcha..." An eyebrow quirked, inquisitive.

"Tom Paris. And we should probably let the meeting get going again."

Sounding remarkably dignified, Haralowan said, "Indeed. We may not have as much time as we'd like. Lieutenant Mathews, could you continue?"

Picard's voice was low, pitched to carry no further than the half-dozen Starfleet people seated around him. "I see I did not pay close enough attention to _Voyager_'s reports. You know this... gentleman?"

"Know _of_ him. He's a friend and rival of Ryoga Hibiki, the guy we picked up. Martial artist, and victim of a curse. Couple others in their circle of friends, and they're enemies with more."

"Curses." Picard sounded strained. "I will admit, the reports' mentions of 'magic,' I had put down to Clarke's Law. But that does not explain... what this Ranma just did." A breath. "I shall need more information. Later. For now, we need to listen."

* * *

Tom thought he'd followed Haralowan's explanation so far, but he was having trouble getting his head around it. So, he guessed were some of the others. "So this group is, what, knocking big holes in the load-bearing walls of the multiverse?"

The Admiral opened his mouth to reply, then paused a moment in thought. Then, "Actually, that's reasonably accurate. We don't think these breaches will cause the multiverse to collapse in on itself, not unless they get a lot bigger, but they are more or less 'holes in the wall.' They have made it a lot easier for certain things to move around. The dimensional barriers don't just keep the dimensions contained, they keep other things out."

"What sort of... other things?" asked Picard warily.

Haralowan paused for a moment before he continued. "Well, we've already seen the lesser ones; creatures that can exist and fly around in vacuum, and attack ships."

"Things like the squids," said Tolwyn, more a statement than a question.

"Yes."

Silence hung over the conference room for a long minute. "And these are 'lesser' creatures, you say?" asked Picard. At Chrono's nod, he continued. "What are the 'greater' ones like?"

"Beings that have destroyed empires and, according to some of our legends, entire universes, when they run loose. Things that were not meant to interact with what we like to call reality. We need to stop whoever is doing this damage before they get loose."

That pronouncement hung over the conference room for a long moment. Picard broke the silence. "Is it possible that our own drives are exacerbating the problem?"

Chrono had one of those glanced, obvious _not-_conversationswith one of the technical types on his staff. How they conveyed so much so quickly was something Tom would rather like to know. "From what we can tell, no. Your Dimensional Drive is... inelegant, but it's remarkably clean for a non-magical Drive." He turned to Tolwyn. "From what you've said, this seems to be within the capabilities of your normal faster-than-light drives."

"It requires some adjustments, and it's not exactly a pleasant jump, but yes." A pause. "And if we can use them, so can the Kilrathi. They won't be quite so... eager to talk, as we are."

"Well then. We'll simply have to work together to bring this to a stop, for all our sakes."

* * *

"Pyrokinesis, huh?" asked Tom, nodding, as he and Ranma headed for the Bridge. "Wondered how you managed that with cold water, since Ryoga needed warm to switch back."

The meeting and exchange of information had been long and rather dull. Now that it was over, Ranma had offered to give Tom a quick tour of the place – they had some time before he'd need to fly his compatriots back to their ship, while the science types went over the gritty details, and the command types figured out how they were gonna work together for this. Chrono was reasonable, if a bit stiff and formal. From what he could tell, Picard was more or less similar. Tolwyn, however, might make things interesting.

He'd make a point to not get in Chrono's way after this little meeting. It probably wasn't going to do the young Admiral's temper any good, and the aquatransexual knew he brought out the worst in the older man at the best of times.

"Mushi and Lee called it Firebending." A shrug. "I'm not _that _good. Picked it up sparrin' with Lee, then picked his and Mushi's brains for the rest of the evening."

"So it's another martial arts thing?"

"Yeah." _Why does he sound surprised?_ "Wait... did Ryoga not show you guys what he could do?"

"Not in a fight. We found out about his curse, and he mentioned yours. And his _other_ curse got us most of the way home."

"Sounds like there's a story there."

"A hell of one. But I don't think we've got the time, right now."

"True enough. The bridge is just down here. I'll introduce you to the navigator."

The helmswoman was pleasant and happy to talk shop with the Starfleet Lieutenant, who seemed a lot more fun than his fairly straightlaced companions did. Ranma tuned their conversation out, looked around the bridge some more. Down by the scrying station, he saw Ryoga, still in their spell matrix. The fanged boy hadn't noticed him; it looked like he was brooding. Not surprising, really. Ryoga had _not_ had a good month.

Tom, it seemed, had noticed him too. "Is that Ryoga?"

"Yep. Whoever or whatever is doin' this is copyin' his curse. Or something like that, anyway. They're trying ta track it back usin' him."

"He looks like he could use someone to talk to." Tom started across the bridge, Ranma a step behind.

Ryoga noticed them as they approached. "Tom! Don't tell me you guys are lost again?"

The helmsman smirked, waved the question aside. "Nah, we got ordered to go looking for this stuff. How you keeping?"

Ryoga gestured at the web of spells that swirled around him. "About how you'ld think. Sad part is, this is actually a step up on how I was doing before they caught up to me."

"Oh?"

Ryoga hesitated, then shot Ranma a look that said, very eloquently, _if you mention this to anyone you are dead_, and turned back to Tom. "Personal stuff. Look, Tom... I don't know the best way to ask this but... you've got some experience dealing with women who're mad at you, right?"

Tom smiled. "You might say that."

"I need some advice..."

* * *

_Concordia_'s deck seemed to jerk a few millimeters to port as it followed _Marie_ in the dimensional jump, and for a split second, Tolwyn felt his stomach lurch. _Easier on the system than using our Jump Engines with that anomaly was, but still hardly pleasant. _"Radar, position check."

"Radar showing allied forces mostly where we expected. We're high above a planet – easy orbit distance. Still inside the gravity well."

"Navigation, put us in orbit. Communications, hail the flag and-"

The radar operator interrupted him. "Sir! I'm reading another fleet, also in orbit. Twenty-five plus ships."

_That_ woke him up. "Any identification?"

"They're broadcasting some kind of ID, I'm trying to translate it now."

"Message from the flag, Admiral! Haralowan says they're Bradesons."

_The mysterious foe the TSAB has been at war with. Lovely. Like I need another war._ "Understood. Battle alert, power up the Phase Shields and all guns; get the fighter wing ready to launch." A pause. "Signal the flag for instructions." Oh, he hated that, but he'd agreed to follow Haralowan's lead, and he knew next to nothing about these Bradesons, save that they didn't use fighters.

"Fleet composition?"

"Mix of what look like either very heavy cruisers or light battleships with escorts in the frigate range. There's also one larger ship that looks almost like an odd man out; but it's got no shields that I can read."

"Reply from the flag, sir. Haralowan wants to try and talk to them."

* * *

_"This is Admiral Chrono Haralowan of the Time Space Administration Bureau warship _Claudia_ to Bradeson fleet. Please state your intentions."_

"Remarkably polite, given we're at war," muttered Dolce.

"Indeed," agreed Hoss. _So much for bringing this nonsense to a peaceful end. The gods must have a sense of humor today – we've been here for only a few hours. _ "Communications, signal _Galactica_ to stand by for the moment, and record the following for transmission to _Claudia." _He paused for a moment, gathering his thoughts. "This is Admiral Joffery Hoss of the Dimensional Republic of Bradeson Naval Vessel _Admiral Minsk_. We are not currently engaged in operations against the Bureau, but are investigating a series of dimensional anomalies and incursions by Voidspawn into realspace." Another pause. "Transmit that, if you please."

"On the chip and sent, Commodore."

"Do you think they'll buy it, Sir?" Mage-Captain Dolce asked, expression carefully neutral.

"Given that it's _true_, I'd hope so, but that's neither here nor there. The real question is, are we going to have to fight our way out of this? And for that matter, who're their two friends?"

"Energy readings are decent, but they're pure tech from what I can see. We have a numerical advantage, sir, and we _are_ at war. If it comes down to it, I think we can take them handily."

* * *

"The Bradeson fleet is changing course, bearing towards the main body of the TSAB fleet," said Seven from the sensor console. At the helm, Tom tried to stay calm. This could get very ugly, very quickly.

From his station, Data announced, "Admiral Haralowan is hailing us."

"On screen." Even now, Picard sounded calm and collected. How he managed it, Tom had no idea.

It was a conference transmission, the view split between _Claudia _and _Concordia. _Admiral Haralowan waited a moment, confirming the connection, then said, _"Gentlemen, we have an interesting situation. They claim that they _aren't _part of the war, and that they are investigating the same thing we are. Opinions?"_

"They could be telling the truth," said Picard, "At least in part. Our sensors are not detecting any stations or strategic assets here, and from what you've said, I should think they would have as much reason as your own people to want these creatures stopped."

_"I agree,_" began Tolwyn, _"But I'd be wary regardless. They have us outnumbered, and they _are _at war with you." _He shrugged. _"If his superiors are anything like mine, they'd probably crucify him if __he didn't at least drive us off."_

_ "Probably. The Bradesons _are_ ruthless." _A pause. _"And my own superiors wouldn't be much happier with me if I left him alone. Form up; and we'll offer battle."_

Tom glanced back at Picard, who gave him a slight nod. _Enterprise_ responded to his commands, sliding gracefully into formation, flanking the cruiser _Kimberly_. Tom felt himself tensing – this could get very ugly, very quickly. _I just hope nobody says something like 'it can't get any worse.'_

"Any further response from the Bradesons?" asked Picard as he glanced at Data.

"None that I could detect, sir. I suspect they are also-"

On the screen – showing a view of the distant foe – dark energy flared, looking like nothing so much as a massive, mottled bruise on the face of the cosmos. As it cleared, it revealed a fleet of ships. Two dozen large, dagger-shaped ships, and twice as many lesser vessels escorting them. Tom's blood froze as he recognized those capital ships. _Imperial Star Destroyers._ His mind flashed back to _Voyager'_s encounter with _Chimaera_, and it's massive Borg-cube-destroying volley of fire and he swallowed hard.

"Sir, the radiation burst released by that fleet's.. appearance appears to be a match to the anomalies we have been tracing," said Data. The android almost sounded concerned.

From the back of the bridge came Seven's voice, sounding half strangled. "Captain..."

Quietly, Picard said, "I know. I hear them, too."

_Hear them? What are they-_ The memory twinged of _Chimaera_ gathering up the wreckage of that Borg cube. _Oh. Oh _SHIT.

"Red alert," said Picard grimly, "All hands to battlestations."


	11. Chapter 10

_Disclaimer: I don't own the various universes this wanders through. This story is intended only as entertainment and a tribute, and I make no claim on these 'verses._

**Chapter Ten**

"Captain! Multiple contacts; forty plus!"

It wasn't the _most_ unexpected thing Janos Harbid could have heard at the moment, but it was up there. He raced to the tactical display at the shout from the crew pit. The tactical view wasn't good. There were two fleets arrayed around them, both in higher orbits; pinning the Imperial fleet inside the planet's gravity well.

True, it looked like they had the numerical advantage over these strangers, but they knew nothing about them. Mon Cal cruisers didn't look like much to the untrained eye, but they were vastly more potent than the cruise liners whose hull design they grew from.

And while they'd put this fleet together for a fight, it sure as the Sith wasn't for _this_ fight. He turned towards the Techno-Mystics. "Nassistor. How long before we can jump again?"

That unsettling blue-and-amber gaze settled upon him. "The gift of She Who Is As Gold cannot be abused, lest She take it away. It will take time, and prayers and offerings, before we can make use of it once more."

Janos Harbid was not, by inclination, a man prone to violent outbursts. But he'd had a long, stressful week, and this kind of nerfshit was roughly the _last _thing he wanted to deal with right now. He advanced, faster than he and the Omnisian had expected, and grabbed a double handful of Nassistor's robes. "We do not have _time_ for this! In case you hadn't noticed, we're currently pinned in a gravity well by two fleets of unknown, quite possibly hostile, ships. I don't know what the Grand Admiral is going to want to do, but I _do_ know that he's going to need all the information he can get. So tell me how long it will take to jump again."

Nassistor was looking at him with an expression he normally associated with panicked fish. "The- the Engine is a gift from She Who Is As Gold! It _Cannot_ be rushed!"

If they were closer to the bulkheads, Harbid would be slamming the slighter man into them. As it was, he fixed the self important bastard with his best 'you are annoying me, junior subordinate. Stop it' glare. "You can't worship her if you're dead. How. Long."

Nassistor gaped for a few moments more, then visibly collected himself. "If you wish only to move this ship, five minutes. For the fleet, it will take fifteen."

"Fifteen minutes then. _Thank_ you. Carry on." he gently let the techno-mystic go, making sure the other man had his feet under himself first. He turned back to the crew pit. "Comms. Signal the flag: fifteen minutes until we can jump out."

He politely ignored the few satisfied grins sent his way. It wasn't at all professional of them to have enjoyed watching him lay into that supercilious bastard, but given that the laying in was even _less_ professional, he figured he could let it slide. Emperor's black bones, it had felt good.

* * *

"Grand Admiral! A transmission from the second prong of that fleet! Like the first, they're saying our 'dimensional drive' is causing problems, and they're demanding we heave to and surrender."

Under normal circumstances, Pellaeon would be biting the heads off his people for the poor communication discipline. At the moment, he was willing to let it slide.

They had much, _much_ bigger things to worry about.

"Admiral?" he made it a leading question in his tone.

Thrawn simply sat in his command chair, hands tented before his body, looking utterly relaxed in his immaculate white uniform. "I find it interesting, Captain Pellaeon, that two foes are turning towards us."

"Sir?" _Where had _that_ come from?_

"Consider the fleets arrayed before us in high orbit, Captain. They are only now vectoring to offer battle to _us._ They sent us separate ultimatums. They did not come here to fight us, but each other.. Neither force will dare to attack us, for fear their enemies will take advantage." Red eyes narrowed. "If we can stall for time, I have no doubt they will turn on each other once more." A thoughtful pause. "Signal the fleet to prepare to jump out. We shall return to base for now; our attack can wait, and they will _not_ defeat us on our own chosen ground. And perhaps we should examine the Engine... more closely."

"Of course sir." Pellaeon's mind whirled. The Grand Admiral had to be guessing... but his guesses were almost always good. If this wasn't a united fleet – and from their deployment, he could almost see it. The separation here wasn't great enough to invite defeat in detail, but it was enough that, unless these strangers were far swifter than they looked, they could take the advantage.

Unless. They didn't know enough about what these ships were capable of. One of them – the tactical screen finally started updating with names as it began to decode the various ship's identification beacons – named _Enterprise_ looked similar to _Voyager_, though its energy readings were considerably higher. Still. "Instructions, sir?"

"For the moment, talk to these two fleets. Stall for time. Navigation, begin plotting a course away from this place."

The lieutenant in charge of Navigation had served under Thrawn longer than Pellaeon himself. "Admiral, that could be problematic. We don't have much of anything charted beyond this system."

"That will do. We merely need to elude these forces until _Death's Head_ can jump us out. If need be, we will fight."

The tech at the comm piped up. "We just got a signal from _Death's Head._ Captain Harbid estimates fifteen minutes before they'll be able to jump."

"Duely noted. Navigation?"

"I've got a course that'll take the fleet to one of the outer planets, but it requires about eight minutes in realspace to get around this planet's gravity well, and that of the system's primary. Best I can do."

"Excellent. Transmit that course to the fleet. Communications, tell the fleet to stand by. Perhaps we can bluff our way out."

* * *

"Are they seriously claiming that they _don't _know their drive is causing problems?" Lieutenant Bombrad muttered.

"Well," began Dolce, "Purely taking the position of Devil's Advocate, unless some Voidspawn actually showed up at their personal doorsteps, they might not be able to tell. They look like a pure tech setup from here."

Hoss' tone was hard. "They built a working Dimensional Drive. One that doesn't just move a single ship, but _fleets_. They know what it's doing. They just don't care." His tone hardened further. "I dislike being lied to. Resend our demand for surrender, and bring the fleet to battle readiness."

* * *

_Withdraw peacefully. The locals are pointing guns at us, and Thrawn tells us to 'withdraw.' _thought Captain Morgos Jov of the Imperial Star Destroyer _Warbringer_. "Sithspit," he muttered quietly. "I should have known he was too good to be true."

And after five years of defeats, why had he really expected anything more? Isard had fallen, giving the Rebels Coruscant. The most effective Imperial remnant had been a renegade, the warlord Zsinj, and even _he_ had fallen, and in so doing had driven the historically neutral Hapans to the Rebel's sides! Of _course_ Thrawn was too good to be true. He couldn't be a real Grand Admiral, probably another jumped-up self-promoted fool like Teradoc.

_Have we really fallen so far? Is there no-one left in the Empire who knows how we should deal with upstarts like these?_ Pellaeon, it seemed, had forgotten what it was to be in the Imperial starfleet. Sithspit, he'd forgotten back at _Endor_! No surprise that they were losing the war. Jov felt his features harden. _We have the advantage of numbers, and we are the Imperial Navy. We're being told to surrender, and all Thrawn wants to do is walk away. If these people have forgotten the glory of the Empire and the Imperial Navy, perhaps it falls to me to _remind_ them. _"Gunners. These impudent locals need to be taught a _lesson_."

* * *

The _Sage-_class missile destroyer _Tellah_ had barely enough time to scream an alert before her shields and armor failed beneath the Star Destroyer's guns, turning her into a rapidly expanding cloud of gasses. Her sister ships, _Tessa _and _Sarda_, began to manuver wildly, simultaneously spitting back missiles as fast as the launchers would cycle. At that rate of fire, they'd empty their onboard ammo supply in less than thirty minutes, but they could kick out a _lot_ of fire for ships of their mass in that time.

Their first volley of missiles was all but totally unopposed, peppering the _Warbringer_'s ventral shields. Two of the lesser Imperial ships – their beacons tagging them as _Lancer_- class Frigates – started kicking out heavy fire, thinning _Tessa_ and _Sarda_'s volleys considerably.

* * *

Grand Admiral Thrawn's eyes hardened. "Captain Pellaeon. Have my legal staff begin drafting a court martial of Captain Jov. Then signal the fleet to close on that force and engage." It would take longer to reach their jump vector, but if he was right, they would not draw fire from the second force. This was _not_ the way he'd wanted to deal with this situation, but he would make the best of it.

Perhaps even in this idiocy he could find advantage.

* * *

"It looks like the full Bradeson and Imperial fleets are engaging now. Their missile boats are launching, and their gunboats are closing on the Imperials, dropping into a lower orbit. The ship with the Imperial dimension drive is moving to the center of their formation."

Chrono nodded. _Interesting. Crazy. What do I do with this?_

"Sir, the Bradeson's have started up their jammers; looks like they're blanketing every-" The sensor tech cut off abruptly.

"Everything?"

"Every frequency except for the ones the TSAB uses for communication. He's left us alone."

Silence descended on the _Claudia_'s bridge for a long moment as that sank in. Quietly, Chrono said, "Get me a channel to the _Admiral Minsk_."

After a moment, the Bradeson Commodore's face appeared on his screen. _"Hello, again, Admiral. Can I ask you to make this brief? We're about to come under fire."_

"Why jam them and not us? We are most certainly not on the same side."

_"Because I doubt I can beat these people alone, and I am _not_ going to let them get away to continue ravaging the Dimensional Barriers. A gesture of trust seemed like a good first step."_

"Trust that I would decide stopping the Imperials was more important than prosecuting our war?"

_"At the moment, yes."_

There was a long silence as Chrono considered the options. While he thought, the visual from _Admiral Minsk_ wavered and grayed out for a moment as the battleship took fire. Then, "Agreed. We'll sort out the rest later."

* * *

Jean-Luc Picard was on the edge of his command chair, one hand clutching the armrest like a drowning main clutched at a life ring. _Borg. A Borg collective, if a small one, and they are _here. He burned to charge headlong at the ship harboring them and remove their damnable whispers from his head by main force. But that ship had vanished into the heart of the enemy formation, and Jean-Luc Picard the _Captain_ held back Jean-Luc Picard the man. He had a responsibility to his ship and crew. The last time he'd forgotten that had very nearly lost him both.

Data was watching him with one golden eye, the other focused on his console, as if making sure he was not about to forget what was at stake. "I have repeated our request for instructions from the Flag, sir."

At the Conn, Lieutenant Paris was laying in evasion patterns and firing runs, compiling possible strikes with G'rokas. He could hear the Klingon mutter darkly as he worked his console, a desire to _strike_ at these strangers who were even now firing upon the Bradesons. Strangers with their backs tantalizingly turned. At the science station Seven of Nine worked furiously, trying to drown out the whispers of a collective and the warring feelings of _panic _and _lose myself again _and _security_ and _my friends are here._ Normally, she was actually very good at keeping that whisper so quiet he couldn't hear it. When she wasn't panicked.

He was only peripherally aware of the others on the bridge. Just enough to see that they were aware of the tension that sang in him. Merde, he was normally better about holding himself together...

"_Claudia_ is hailing us, Captain." Data's eternal serenity was a balm.

"On screen." Picard forced himself to reign in his tension as the tactical display was replaced by a split view of Admirals Haralowan and Tolwyn. The younger man spoke first. _"The Bradesons are engaging the Imperial fleet. They don't have the firepower to stop it. Commodore Hoss has offered a ceacefire until the Imperials are defeated, and I have accepted it."_

"The enemy of my enemy is my friend?" asked Picard, leaving the _for now_ unsaid.

_"Exactly. I don't have a damage estimate for that last jump of theirs, but the Imperials are doing unacceptable damage at this point. They need to be stopped, and they need to be stopped here."_

Tolwyn's expression was harder than usual. _"Understood. It looks like the Imperials are launching a _lot_ of fighters; my pilots would appreciate some help dealing with them."_

_ "I'll pass that along. Gentlemen, let us begin."_

_

* * *

_

Legs still shaking, Lina was almost but not quite being carried by Gourry as the two of them raced towards the Observatory. Even through the wards they'd set over their workroom, that last pulse had almost knocked her unconscious. The pair started up the spiraling stairs, climbing the tower towards the telescopes.

Most of the time, those were the province of astrologers and seers, divining wisdom from the heavens. Since the great, debilitating pulses had started, sentries had joined them, still scanning the heavens, but watching for ships. It had taken a few tries to get the hang of finding the things quickly, but they had. Enough to show novices like Lina what they'd spotted.

By the time they were halfway up the stairs, she was ready to collapse. The last one had been _big._ Gourry glanced down at her with an uncharacteristicly smart expression and lifted her up, carrying her as he raced up the rest of the stairs. She wanted to complain, but she was just too tired to muster the effort. Just before they reached the top, he swung her back down and went back to simply supporting her weight and not carrying her like a child. She shot him a grateful look as they entered the Observatory together.

Zelgadiss was already there. He glanced to them, then looked back to the telescope he was observing from. "There's three different groups up there; all with different ships. I think they're fighting."

* * *

Thrawn glared into the static-ridden hash of the tactical plot as their screening elements broke formation, _Lancer_s kicking out countermissile fire while _Victory_ class Star Destroyers and _Carack_ cruisers began to close with the Bradesons. Their ECM was potent, strangling most of his communications, but while that had the potential to make this fight more costly, it would not prevent them from escaping. They would not expend any more of their strength than needed against this threat, not while the Rebels remained uncrushed, but one way or another, he would deal with these Bradesons. Eventually.

From the bridge viewport, he saw light streak towards the lighter ships of his screen from far to port. He grimaced; the Bradeson's fleet was to their starboard. Briefly, he replayed the signs that had lead him to first conclude the two fleets were not allies. _No, they were not allied. Of _that_ I am utterly certain. It must be the Engine_ _that inspires this. _Red eyes narrowed. _I shall have to intervene personally in that matter. The Techno-Mystics are valuable, but if there _is _some grave risk I do not know about..._

_Later. For now, I have a fleet to extract._ "Report," he asked calmly.

"The TSAB force is engaging. It looks like they're hitting the screening elements for now, mostly the _Lancer_s. And one of their ships appears to be launching fighters.

* * *

_Concordia_'s flight decks were scenes of barely organized chaos. Tolwyn wanted the entire fighter wing in space, and he wanted them there yesterday. Colonel Blair exhaled slowly, calming his nerves as his _Saber_-class Heavy Attack Fighter was hooked into the no.3 catapult, his wingman, Hobbes, beside him. He gave the deck officer a thumbs-up, then felt himself get slammed back into his chair as the catapult snapped forward, launching the twenty-two tonne fighter into space.A full-scale combat launch, preformed by a crew as experienced as _Concordia_'s, could put a quartet of fighters in space every fifteen seconds. They assembled aft and below Starlight's squadron of _Ferrets_.

Blair ran his mind over what he knew of the opposition, and the answer was one he always hated to run into: Not Much. None of the various powers in their little scratch fleet had ever locked horns with these Imperials before, though even at this range they could see the Imps deploying fighters of some kind. A lot of fighters. He looked at his threat board – as a squadron commander he got a tactical uplink from _Concordia_'s CIC – and suppressed the urge to swear. It looked like each of the big bastards was putting four or five squadrons into space. He hoped like hell they'd split their attention evenly between their force and the Bradesons.

The radio crackled; Hobbes voice came through. "Colonel, do we have any estimates of our foe's capabilities yet?"

"Not yet. Assume _Grikaths_ and pray for _Salthi_."

Moments later, the radio crackled again, this time on the squadron push. "Looks like today is the day we die," rumbled a low, morose voice.

"Don't be so negative," came an immediate reply. "Think of it as a target-rich environment. They're gonna run outta room, painting kill silhouettes on my nose."

Blair thumbed the comm. "Doomsday, Maniac, cut the chatter. Let's keep the squadron push clear."

The Imperials were taking longer than he'd dare hope to form up, and it looked like they would indeed be splitting their attention. It didn't take too long for _Concordia_'s flight group to be in space, and Colonel Devereaux's voice sounded loud and clear over the comms. "We have a fine battle before us, _mes amis_, so let's do our people proud. Stick to your wingmen and fly true."

There was a moment of silence over the comm, then the various squadrons started accelerating to combat speed; Starlight's _Ferret_s quickly overtaking Angel's squadron of _Rapier_s. Blair thumbed the comm again. "Alright, boys and girls, let's go kick some Imp ass."

* * *

Captain Galhan Mar, commander, 258th Imperial Fighter Group, pushed his TIE Interceptor to full speed and raced towards the group of mixed fighters that had launched off one of the enemy carrier. He'd been in this business for a long time by TIE pilot standards, and his instincts were honed to a razor's edge. Something told him he'd need every edge he had, and he believed that something. They knew roughly nothing about their opponents, but for all their unfamiliarity, those squadrons looked dangerous. His professional eye noted how quickly they were forming up, and how smoothly they moved into formation.

His own fighter group, off of the Imperial Star Destroyer _Admonitor_, had served under Thrawn several times over the years, and he'd been slightly hurt when the rumor mill started talking about the Mount Tantiss project and he found he hadn't been chosen. But right now... right now he was glad that none of his subordinates had been tapped for that project, vanishing into whatever Intel black hole it worked from. He'd need them all, he felt.

He was equally grateful for the presence of two dozen TIE Defenders. They were scattered through the fighter force, and only four of them were flying with his fighter group, but they were more than welcome, the advanced, expensive, and horribly overpowered starfighters a great addition to their firepower.

He was just reaching targeting range when a wave of fire seemed to leap from the stranger's fighters, almost simultaneous with his missile alarm starting to scream. He swallowed the urge to swear, threw the Interceptor into a stomach-churning roll and tucking it briefly behind one of the Defenders, then slewed into the open, clearing his guns to reply.

He'd just lined up his guns on one of the lead ships – a long, narrow thing with a rounded nose – when the missile he'd thought he'd shaken reacquired him.

"Oh, kriff," he managed, just before the missile slammed home.

* * *

Tom Paris had given up trying to keep his normal cool and collected front going as his hands danced across the helm. The _Enterprise_ responded nimbly; even now he never quite expected its speed and grace. They were closing with one of the Imperial ships; a boxy thing he'd heard G'rokas call a _Carack_. They'd helped _Muriel_ bag one of the _Lancer_ class frigates just before; keeping the amount of fire heading for the fighters and the missiles streaking in from the Bradesons down; and were about to draw this fellow's attention.

The amount of jamming going around was insane. The Bradesons were blanketing most of the comm and lower-band sensor frequencies, and the Imps were covering a decent spectrum themselves, though less thoroughly than the others. It was enough to make some of the missiles that didn't get hit by counterfire wander off target and flash between the assorted ships of the fleets. Missiles that so wandered seemed to drop towards the planet below, then immolate themselves in a crimson flash much less spectacular than when they hit something. A decent safety measure, he figured, and one that spoke well of the Bradesons.

The deck echoed with the muted thump of Quantum Torpedo launchers as they closed on the hapless cruiser, which was fighting its way through jamming to try and shoot up some of the lighter TSAB ships. It didn't even look like it had noticed _Enterprise._ Some small part of Tom whispered, _bad form, this_. He ignored it. Bad form would keep them alive against these insane odds.

Azure flashed as Quantum Torpedoes slammed home, followed swiftly by raking crimson blasts from the main Phaser banks.

* * *

The Star Destroyer _Harbinger _bore down upon the battlecruiser _Sancora City _and her sister, the cruser _Sturges._ Her turbolasers and ion cannons traded fire with the smaller ships' plasma cannons. In the two cruiser's wakes came the _Battlestar Galactica_ behind a screen of fightercraft. On her bridge, Captain Saic Hask frowned at the building azure wash against the Star Destroyer's shields. She glanced at the threat board once more – half of it was a haze of what _had _to be false readings. Credit where credit was due: these people had _impressive_ EWAR gear on their ships. Impressive enough that half the Imperial formation was breaking up, not sticking tightly to the flag. She'd not meant to get so separated from the rest of the fleet, but now that she was... Hask would not turn her back to an enemy. These three ships would die before her, and then she would return to formation. Or she'd reach the waypoint Thrawn had broadcasted and jump to the outer system.

Hask had no idea where these people were from – certainly not the planet below, which was barely scraping itself out of the dark ages – but they seemed to care about that rock, _Sancora City_ and her consort had held their fire until they'd been at an angle that kept the planet out of its fall-of-shot. Worth noting, she figured, though given that the battlecruiser and cruiser both looked to be able to outrun and outmanuver her Impstar Deuce, it would be quite a trick to make that into a bigger problem for the stranger.

_Galactica_ threw another volley at them, and its explosive tipped shells burst against the Star Destroyer's shields like overripe fruit. That thing was a throwback – no shields and no energy weapons, and was no real threat. Glancing at the shield readouts, she frowned, keyed her comm. "All guns, concentrate on the cruisers and ignore _Galactica. _Our fighters can deal with it." Its screen was thin – _Harbinger_'s fighter group should be able to overwhelm them easily, and if its armor was as pitiful as its guns, the bombers would make short work of the big ship.

Another glance at the tactical display – the Imperial formation was loosening up from what she could see – damned EWAR – but they were more or less on course to follow the Grand Admiral's order. Their intership comms were almost entirely jammed out, but that was unlikely to be a critical problem in the next few minutes. A frown. _Sancora City _was continuing to close, and it seemed her skipper had similar thoughts about not letting the Star Destroyer get between itself and the planet. It was making that impossible by dropping below the larger ship as it continued to close – and now amber beams lashed out, raking the big ship's shields as azure plasma blasts continued to crash home. _Sturges_ was tucked in behind her. Hask frowned at those amber beams. They didn't seem to be depleting _Harbinger_'s shields themselves, but wherever they had touched, following plasma blasts seemed to do _more _damage than they should, more than they were doing elsewhere. It was decidedly disquieting.

Whatever it's own shields were, they seemed to be shrugging off the effects of _Harbinger_'s ion cannons, though the turbolasers were leaving their marks. Still, the ship, most of the size of a _Victory_ class Star Destroyer, was proving tougher than it looked at first. _How? We should be able to take this nerf easily... _Frowning, she looked closer at the tactical readouts. There was something distinctly odd about the readings of the two ship's shields, almost like... almost like they were re-enforcing each other.

Sharing their shields... interesting. A part of her badly wanted to know just how that worked. The rest of her just wanted to batter through it. A smile – if they were protecting each other, they'd have to stick together.

"Navigator, roll ship – we've got more guns on our top than our belly. Keep it towards them. Engineering, reduce our belly shields to twenty-five percent and re-enforce the topsides."

It wasn't like _Galactica_ could hurt them, anyways.

* * *

Captain Stevens smiled with grim satisfaction as _Pauline_'s guns lashed out, ripping a swathe through the Imperial fighter screen. The TSAB had never used starfighters – you could only minimize some tech so far before it started loosing too much efficiency to be worth it – but they'd seen other powers make use of them before. And what kind of allies would they be if they didn't try to help keep _Concordia_'s fighters alive?

The frigate's guns weren't firing as quickly as, strictly speaking, they could, but it was close – the gunnery officers of all three shifts were crammed around the weapons station, each working individual batteries. From the sensors, it seemed that even a single blast was overkill against these TIE fighters.

Some of the TIE commanders seemed to be able to communicate, and they were sweeping towards _Pauline _and her sister frigates, most of whom were picking off fighters. Thus far, the frigates hadn't attracted the attention of the bigger ships, though a few of the Imperial heavies were blasting at the fleet's big cruisers, who were giving back fury with defiance. The Imp's anti-missile frigates had been scragged right off – after two years of skirmishing, the TSAB had more than enough experience with Bradeson missile boats to _not_ want to watch them shoot up someone else's fleet – and the tight formation of capital ships had loosened up some, as the Star Destroyers tried to cover each other against incoming missiles and fighters.

Though part of that might have simply been the way the Bradies were jamming them to hell and gone. They were diabolical – every time the TSAB found a way to counter some aspect of their jammers, the Bradies found a way to counter their countermeasure. The Admiral hadn't said anything about it, but Stevens had his sensors and scryers gather up every scrap of information they could spot about the Bradie jammers in this little fight. It might just help later on.

One lone TIE fighter with bent, daggerlike wings, swirled around _Pauline_'s fire and managed a strafing run. From the profanities rising from the gunnery station, they'd tried to shoot this one down and missed, which put its pilot up on many of his fellows. Another wave of mystic blasts lashed out, corkscrewing and turning in pursuit as the TIE fighter eluded them, before a blast from one of her sister ships streaked in and caught it out.

Fighters. Why did these people bother with them?

Well, it wasn't like they had dedicated carriers – these Star Destroyers seemed to be very much battleships first, and carriers a distant second. Much like, now that they saw her in action, _Concordia_, which was advancing alongside the fleet's main formation, her anti-matter cannons spitting fire at the Imperials. The big carrier was aiming for the flanks of the Imperial fleet, trying to avoid the sections of their formation with Bradeson ships mixed into it. Huh. Their Admiral Tolwyn was a bright sort.

* * *

_Admiral Minsk_ was at the head of the Bradeson formation, and close around her was _Zanella City, Scorpa City, _and _Sachs City_. The three battlecruisers had their shields syncronized with the battleship, giving all four protection that was, for the moment at least, shrugging off everything five _Carack _cruisers, a pair of _Victory _class Star Destroyers, and about nine squadrons of mixed TIE \INs, TIE Interceptors, and TIE Bombers could throw at them.

They weren't diving towards the heart of the Imperial formation – Hoss was not so foolish as that – but they were definitely trying to take a chunk out of its flanks. The quartet had already rendered two _Carack_s and a _Lancer_ into slag, and were hard at work pounding through _Hunter_'s shields. The _Victory _class ship was doing its level best to try and at least take one of them down in exchange, but with its comms jammed to the ice hells, she couldn't co-ordinate with her consorts.

_Admiral Minsk_ shuddered as the Imperial fire concentrated on her more and more. Even if they hadn't seen shield linking before, someone over there was quick on the uptake. Probably not Pellaeon himself – no way was a mere Captain in command of a fleet this side – but whoever his mysterious commander was, he'd gotten the core of the matter. Focused fire on a single target could break linked shields better than that fire covering everything.

_Hunter_ finally folded, looking for a moment like a spider in a candle flame as she was consumed in plasma fire. For a moment, Hoss looked into his plot at the core of the Imperial fleet. One of those Star Destroyers carried their dimensional drive. If they didn't neutralize that ship, than this whole thing was nothing more than a great, bloody mummer's farce. But the damned things were half again as big as the _Victory_ class ships that his quartette struggled to break. The energy readings he was getting of their shields were massive, enough so that they'd need to close enough to bring their Disruption Lances to bear, as well as their Plasma Cannon. And at that range, they would _not_ be able to survive the weight of fire that would descend upon them.

* * *

The space around _Galactica_ was a maelstrom of swirling fighters. TIE Fighters danced and whirled around Colonial Vipers; the pilots on both sides veterans all. The toll upon the Vipers was high; though they were, in the main, tougher craft than their foes, they were slower and less maneuverable. But they were used to that. Cylon Raiders, after all, did not have to contend with the limits of human pilots, maneuvering and accelerating with greater speed than the Vipers. The TIEs did not get off unscathed, contending with both Colonial tactics and the prodigious anti-spacecraft fire of _Galactica_ herself. Too, the best of the Imperial pilots had been cherry-picked by the mysterious Mount Tantiss project, leaving the squadrons under the command of second and third officers. Apollo and Starbuck, by contrast, wielded their squadrons as a swordmaster would his blade. None of the TIE Bombers survived to make a run on the _Galactica_, and few of the TIE Fighters managed it, too busy fighting for their lives.

A charitable man would, perhaps, forgive _Harbinger_'s wing commander for missing the launch of _Galactica_'s Raptor squadrons. The young man was pursuing one of the Colonial Vipers, trying to get on its 6 o'clock and put it out of his misery. He'd winged it once, but for all the things were shieldless, they were tough little kriffers. It didn't help that, thanks to the _Galactica_'s flak field, they'd lost enough TIE/INs to be outnumbered – and the Colonials seemed to have lots of experience dealing with foes who were faster and more maneuverable. His fighter's target alarm started wailing; the kriffing bastards had a knack for baiting tactics. His wingman had bought it earlier to just such an attack. He himself, slightly more experienced and with rather more self-preservation instincts than the average TIE pilot, broke immediately rather than keep boring in for a shot, vision graying for a moment despite his inertial compensators. Vaguely, he saw a second Viper slash through the space he'd been moments before, its cannons blazing as it slewed into a turn, trying to keep the pressure on.

No, _Harbinger_'s wing commander had his hands quite full trying to neutralize the enemy's fighters. He missed their _bombers_ completely.

* * *

Athena fought to control her breathing as the Raptors formed up, each bomber sporting a full load of anti-capital ship missiles under their stubby wings. In the back of the compartment, her sensor operator swore quietly as he watched the DRADIS. "Frakkers are fast... but it looks like Apollo and the rest of the Viper jocks have their attention. But if they come for us, we're meat."

"Just means we have get it right the first time." The Cylon thumbed the squadron comm. "Okay, people, we're getting just one shot at this. Everyone program in target co-ordinates 131.2 by 049.8, and set for contact detonation." She waited a moment, then continued. "Time to show everyone that our 'primitive' weapons are still useful." She keyed a Nuke Warning, then hit the firing stud.

Each Raptor had a full payload of nukes, all of them keyed for a time-on-target volley linked to Athena's controls. The forty-eight missiles, split between eight Raptors, staggered their launches over about two seconds, to ensure proper timing. The pilots broke immediately, trusting in their targeting computers as they saved their eyes.

* * *

In _Harbinger_'s vast hanger bay, the TIE squadron's deck crews were busily squaring away equipment from the mass launch. They worked swiftly – if all went well, the bomber squadron would be back in a few minutes for a quick rearm before they went in search of further prey. The launch tractors were set to facilitate the recovery process, and most of the fuel bunkers locked down. Technically, the ammo stores should be locked down as well, but speed counted for more than polish in a pinch.

And it wasn't like they were worried about the fire the ship was taking – The bulk of the Star Destroyer was between the flight deck and the opponents they were dueling that could actually hurt it.

Then the deck was flooded with a wash of blinding white light as something – several somethings, in fact – detonated against the ventral shields, just aft of the center of the bay.

* * *

In _Galactica_'s CiC, Gaius Baltar looked up from his sensor console, grinning. "The Raptor's missile strike appears to have taken down her aft shields, Admiral."

Adama's smile was a razor of ice as he keyed the comm. "All guns, target the Star Destroyer's hanger bay."

* * *

For a moment, the only sound in the hanger bay was the assorted profanity of the deck crews as they fought to clear their vision – or get their protective goggles to clear. Then the first wave of autocannon shells roared through the magcon field and began to detonate against the hanger's roof, sending submunitons and shrapnel flying in all directions; tearing through men, equipment, and unsecured munitions.

Secondary explosions gutted ammo bunkers; setting off stores of concussion missiles and thermal detonators. Those in turn ripped open fuel bunkers, and white-hot shrapnel ignited them. The hanger bay was gutted, autocannon shells lancing deeper into the Star Destroyer's belly and wreaking havok in job-lots. In moments, the mighty vessel's engines faltered, and then the rest of her shields.

* * *

Baltar tried to ignore Six's smirk and applause, as well as the bridge crew's cheers, as he concentrated on the sensors. _Too much guesswork... I just don't know enough about these strangers._ He didn't succeed too well at either – Six, being in his head already, was hard to ignore, and the military type's enthusiasm was infectious. Still, for all he'd rather be anywhere _but_ the _Galactica_ right now, it was in his best interests to keep the old ship intact, and that meant pitting his scientific might against this mystery.

He pitched his voice to carry over the cheers. "Admiral, they appear to be suffering from power problems."

Adama's smile was a cold, hard thing. "Good."

In a voice only he could hear, Six said, "You know you can't be sure of that. This whole thing is leading you further and further from God's Plan."

"Perhaps that's a good thing," he muttered. Then he frowned at his instruments. _Is that... _"Admiral! I'm reading an energy spike; I think they're targeting-"

And then the deck lept up and punched him in the face.

* * *

Admiral Tolwyn gritted his teeth as two of the Imperial Star Destroyers broke away from their main formation and turned upon _Concordia. _Thus far, the Dreadnought's Phase Shields were holding, but there was a world of difference between scattered fire from several ships, and the dedicated, purposeful fire of a few. It had been a _long _time since he'd commanded a ship in a full scale fleet action.

He glanced over the tactical board. Most of their fighters were running down Imperials, and both squadrons of _Broadswords_ were starting their run on one of the _Victory_ class ships. They were far enough from _Concordia_ that they'd struggle to make it back in time to be decisive. The fight had made its way out of the planet's gravity well now, and instincts honed by decades of war told Tolwyn that it was time to do or die.

"Gunners, hit that lead Star Destroyer with every Antimatter Gun you can bring to bear. Helmsman, line us up on the other one. Engine room, ready the Phase Transit Cannon for firing."

A low, almost subsonic hum began to build as the mighty cannon's capacitors began to charge, more felt than heard over the din of battle. The steady _thrum_ of Antimatter Guns blasting away at the lead Star Destroyer – _Stalker_ – punctuated the mechanical sounds and reports that flooded the bridge. The mighty ship shuddered as the fusillade of green and blue energy blasts spent themselves against their Phase Shields, _Stalker_ and _Harpy_ both turning to bring their broadsides to bear.

_ Concordia_ turned as well, still driving towards _Harpy. _Two of her Antimatter Guns, unable to bear upon _Stalker,_ turned their attentions towards the other Star Destroyer. Its shields held fast, though _Stalker_'s began to falter. As the range closed, a flight of the faster, single-hulled bombers the Imperials were using made a run on _Concordia_'s stern, their flight covered by a squadron of TIE Fighters. Tolwyn felt some grudging respect for them; they were forcing him to keep his shields covering all aspects, keeping him honest. That respect didn't stop him from smiling grimly as they tried to race away from the Dreadnought, and ran straight into her flak cannon's field of fire.

The Phase Shields began to buckle under the Star Destroyers' attack as the Phase Transit Cannon finished charging. Smile a razor of ice, Tolwyn gave the order to fire.

The massive cannon, built into _Concordia_'s keel, thundered, belching violet fire. The bolt of energy streaked across the gap between _Concordia_ and _Harpy_, lighting the battlefield like God's Own Flashbulb as it hit. When the blast cleared, fully a third of the Star Destroyer's mass was simply _gone_, and the rest of the ship reduced to shattered and charred debris.

Tolwyn let the cheer of his bridge crew wash over him, felt his smile warm. "Helmsman!" he shouted over the din, "Change course to bear upon _Stalker_."

Even as the _Confederation_ class Dreadnought swung her heavy bow towards the Star Destroyer, that ship's fire upon them faltered, then died completely. She seemed to stretch into infinity for a moment, then vanished into hyperspace, risking the unknown dangers of a blind jump to the known dangers of staying under that terrible gun.

* * *

_One hit. Just one._ Captain Harry Bimota looked upon _Galactica_ and shook his head. He'd been getting desperate just before the Colonial ship had landed it's sucker-punch, _Sancora City _and _Sturges_' shield link breaking down beneath the raw firepower of even a single Imperial Star Destroyer. _One hit damn near crippled _Galactica_ outright._

_ Bill Adama is a lunatic. I'm glad he's on our side._

_Galactica_ was limping away from the battlefield, a gaping wound in her topside armor streaming thin flames as oxygen leaked into compromised compartments and was consumed. The big ship's power readings were fluctuating madly, her engines firing erratically. A handful of TIE Fighters remained in space, locked in battle with the Colonial Vipers that outnumbered them. _Sturges_ gunners were more confident than his own, picking off TIEs from within the swirling melee.

Of course, even if his own gunners had the confidence to fire into a mixed-up furball like that one, there was a very real possibility that they _couldn't _right now. _Sancora City _looked to be in as bad or worse shape as _Galactica_, it had just taken a hell of a lot more fire to do it. Her starboard batteries, plasma and disruption lance both, had been seared away, and she'd been leaking air for a minute or so before they managed to get everything locked down. Charged particle cannon blasts, not as directly destructive as the big green cannons, had played hell with her power systems once they began to leak through, frying circuits and tripping damn near every breaker in the starboard aft. Only the ship's sturdy construction had kept her from breaking up entirely. _Harbinger _had decided to kill her first, which was all that had saved _Sturges._ The cruiser wouldn't have survived what fire leaked through the shield link.

"Communications, open a channel to _Galactica."_ He waited a moment for a nod from the signals officer. "_Sancora City _to _Galactica_, report please. How bad is the damage?"

For a long moment, there was no response, then a voice crackled onto the bridge. _"_Sancora City_, this is Galactica Actual. We're still trying to figure that out, but we could use engineering and medical assistance."_

"Understood, _Galactica,_" he said as he saw the last of the TIEs near them die. "We'll do what we can."

* * *

Whipping his _Sabre_ into a turn that made his vision gray, Todd "Maniac" Marshall tried to shake the strange three-winged fighter that was hard on his heels. He felt as much as heard the aft turret firing, the rapid _thumpthump _of the dual neutron guns lost beneath the trilingual litany of profanity of his gunner.

Mark that. _Quadra_lingual. Somewhere, Gunnery Officer Jones had picked up what sounded like Russian to enrich his bad-situation vocabulary. If they got out of this alive, he'd have to get him to write some of those down, they sounded terribly useful.

The _Sabre_ shuddered again as green laser blasts tore into its shields, setting off the 'shields failed' alarm. Again. _Full burners, dive away, snap roll oh Jesus tapdancing Christ he's still_ back there! Another green flash, and the _Sabre_ went one way as half the port wing went the other. Maniac hauled on his controls, but he was too late. With the mass so unbalanced, the fighter went into a flat spin. Another blast hit the fuselage, rupturing the fuel tank. "Jones! Time to go!"

The heavy _thump_ of the turret jettisoning itself to serve as an escape pod followed instantly behind his shout; close enough that it was clear the gunner had already decided to do it. _Time to follow his example._ Head down, both hands around the D-ring, PULL like your life depended on it- a fist of noise smashing at his ears as explosive bolts blew the canopy clear. Slammed into the seat as the ejection rockets fired, he sailed clear of the wreck, still spinning with inertia from the fighter. Beneath him, his fighter blew apart at the touch of one final volley.

The Imp pilot, cheeky bastard that he was, did a victory roll as he shot through the space that had held his _Sabre_ moments before. And despite his frustration and fury, the only thought coursing through Maniac's skull was, _Good God, I would _love_ to fly one of those._

_

* * *

_

_We're not going to be able to stop them_, thought Chrono._ Not even close._

Oh, they'd taken a toll on the Imperial's screen and lighter elements – after two years of dealing with Bradeson missile ships, taking out fighters was relatively easy – but the majority of the Star Destroyers and several of their escorting cruisers were still intact. _Enterprise_ had been driven off, retreating as her shields began to fail. She was still taking the occasional potshot, but only from extended range. _Concordia_ had, likewise, pulled back, and her bombers were landing, presumably to reload. They'd destroyed one of the _Victory_ Star Destroyers with their previous attack.

Chrono was beginning to understand why Earth was so enamored of fighter craft. And honestly curious if the TSAB could adopt some of the technologies involved.

And they'd taken losses of their own. _Annette_, _Pauline_ and _Muriel_ were so much floating wreckage, having had the misfortune to drift too close to some of the _Imperial_ Star Destroyers. _Megan_ would need at least a month in spacedock before it was battle worthy again, several other ships damaged to various degrees, and _Claudia_ herself was not unscathed.

_But we're doing better than the Bradesons_, he thought with a bit of grim satisfaction. On the tactical display, he could see Commodore Hoss' formation angling away from the main Imperial force, less one of its battlecruisers, the _Admiral Minsk_ herself looking badly damaged. Three other battlecruisers had been destroyed, as had two of the big missile ships and their other two missile destroyers. Six more Bradeson ships had been savaged, and none looked undamaged. _We could probably crush you. But if this ship with it's insane dimensional drive gets away, it would be rather pointless._

_

* * *

_

Grand Admiral Thrawn considered the battle around him. Though their screen had suffered painful losses – including all of their _Lancer_–class frigates – the main core of their strength was all but untouched. Nothing, not even _Concordia_ and her impressive cannon, had dared to close decisively with the formation of _Imperial_ Star Destroyers. The Bradeson flagship had come close, but it had broken off when he detached _Judicator_ and _Stormhammer_ to intercept it.

If he wanted to, his force could utterly crush the foes arrayed against them. They might be able to escape with some analog of the Engine, but they could not defeat him. But the effort would almost certainly cost him. Almost certainly, he would lose another Star Destroyer while trying to deal with _Concordia. _He would very much like to capture that ship and its rather interesting weapons and surprisingly potent shields, but actually doing so would probably result in unacceptable losses.

No, they would continue to withdraw. This was not the battle he had sortied to fight. This was a distraction from his goal of crushing the Rebels, and a costly one. Thousands of TIE fighters lost, several frigates and cruisers... no, this was not what he wanted to be doing. "Signal the fleet. Now that we are in position to Hyperspace to the outer system, we shall do so. Recall the remaining TIE fighters. If possible, contact _Stalker_ and order them to join us at the rendezvous point."

The Bradeson jamming was still doing its best, and a handful of ships did not hear the message, nor did scores of TIEs. As the fleet began to hyperspace away, the other ships followed their lead, as did the remaining TIE Defenders.

Robbed of their true targets, the TSAB and Bradeson fleets tore into the orphaned TIEs with a vengeance, though not so furious one to ignore the calls of surrender from fighters that made them.

* * *

"We need to figure out where in the hells they went. That wasn't a Dimensional Jump." Even at the remove of one section of a three-way split screen, Commodore Hoss looked like hell. His ship had been at the sharp end of the fight, and had taken a serious beating. Hoss himself was nursing a wound to the head; a cut from shrapnel that had traced a line across his forehead and taken a small nick from his left ear. It was bandaged for now, a rough strip of what looked like his uniform hem, but that didn't make it any prettier.

"We're scanning the rest of the system now," said Picard. "Unless they've gone completely from the system, we should have their location shortly." A pause. "Which leaves the question of who will be pursuing. With no offense intended, Commodore..."

"We've had seven kinds of hell beaten out of us. And while I've got one or two shipdrivers left with cool enough heads to follow the Bureau into a scrap while our alliance holds, their ships are in almost as bad of shape as mine."

Tolwyn sounded unhappy. "_Concordia_ won't be able to pursue either. Unlike the rest of you, we don't have an intrasystem FTL drive."

Chrono was about to speak when Picard glanced towards someone out-of-shot, then back to the screen. "We've located the Imperial fleet. They've formed up near the sixth planet in the outer system."

Chrono nodded. "Well then. I'll take my ships out there, and at least try to talk to Pellaeon. Admiral Tolwyn, if you'd be so kind as to take on those surrendered fighters?"

"We'll sort them out. Go stop those madmen."

* * *

"Admiral! Ships dropping out of Hyperspace just out of range. It looks like twelve of them, sir."

Grand Admiral Thrawn nodded. "Time until we can jump out?"

"One minute, twenty five seconds on _Death's Head_'s time estimate."

"Admiral, the lead ship is hailing us. It's _Claudia._"

Pellaeon glanced to him, Thrawn shook his head slightly. "I shall take it at this station."

On his screen, the determined face of Admiral Haralowan appeared. _"Captain Pellaeon, whatever else you might think, you mu-_" The young man's voice chopped off for a moment as he registered blue skin and red eyes. _"I assume you are the commander of this fleet?"_

"I am Grand Admiral Thrawn. I presume you are not so foolish as to think that this is enough ships to actually threaten my command, after the battle we have already fought?"

_"That's true enough, Grand Admiral, but I must warn you – your dimensional drive is terribly dangerous. Every time you use it, it is damaging the very fabric of the space-time continuium."_

"Indeed." Space-time continumium? An interesting term. "I shall have my engineers take a closer look at it. Once we have returned home." His eyes narrowed, glowing brighter. "I have no desire for needless conflict between our forces. You know you cannot stop us. Withdraw."

Haralowan glared for a moment. _"Am I correct in guessing you don't actually know what to look for to fix your drive?"_

"That is not your concern. Do not continue to interfere with Imperial business."

* * *

Chrono snarled as _Chimaera _cut the comm. _Letting them leave is... not ideal. They all but destroyed us _in passing._ Following them to their own stronghold would probably be suicide._

He closed his eyes for a moment, running through possibilities. The only thing that came to mind that might work – an Arc-En-Ceil blast – had far too much potential for catastrophic side effects, given the raw power and volatility of the Imperial's drive. Hells, there were regulations in place specifically to prevent people from Arc-ing unquantified drives as a caution.

"I'm open to suggestions, people," he said to the bridge in general.

"Track 'em an' bring back a bigger fleet ta put 'em down?" suggested Ranma. The martial artist had been staring into the tactical display for most of the battle, leaving it only when _Claudia _was hit and someone on the bridge injured. Ranma had gotten the crewman down to sickbay in record time, it seemed, and gotten back onto the bridge without him noticing.

"Given their firepower, that would almost certainly be too costly." A pause. "Crewman Prefect?"

"Scalp wounds always bleed like crazy. Doc figured it looked worse than it was." He was staring into the tactical display, one hand gripping the railing. "We can't do a thing to stop 'em, can we?"

"Not safely." He paused as Ranma snarled, hand tightening around the railing hard enough to mangle the alloy. "We have one weapon that might work, but it's far too dangerous around something as unstable as their drive."

"Admiral! I'm reading a power spike aboard one of the Star Destroyers. It looks like they're charging their dimensional drive."

Chrono felt his head hang. _Sankt Kaiser... nothing more we can do._ "Scanners, get every scrap of data you can. Once they're gone, we'll need to track them, badly. And properly survey the results of their earlier jump."

Aye si- Admiral! _Juliet _is charging her Arc-En-Ceil!"

"Get me Captain Tacoma _now!_" The channel opened, showing the older man standing stoic on his bridge. "Tacoma, power down your Arc-En-Ceil immediately. You know the regs, and this drive's more volatile than most."

Amber eyes met his through the link. "Admiral Haralowan, this is the only chance we have to stop them from continuing to wreak havoc. _You_ may be content to let them go, but _I _am not."

"Captain Tacoma! This is a direct order! Power down your Arc-En-Ceil!"

Tacoma gave him a long, considering look. "I'm sorry, Admiral, but we suffered comm damage. Your transmission is breaking up." Then the connection died.

Chrono blinked. _Damn him! Damn his stubborn hide!_

Fate's voice cut through the anger that rose in him. "Is there a way to force him to stop?"

"Short of blowing up his ship? No." Chrono forced his fists to unclench. "I'd say pray that this doesn't react badly with their drive, and get ourselves to minimum safe distance."

Arc warnings went out to the rest of the fleet, and as _Juliet_ fired, they shifted away as one.

The blast streaked across the stretch of sidereal space towards the gathered Imperials. As _Death's Head _activated the Engine, the Arc-En-Ceil blast detonated-

-On Coruscant, Luke Skywalker looked up from the archives, the records of Jorus C'boath, Jedi Master, temporarily forgotten-

-Hip deep in the console he was repairing, a nameless Doctor started, thumping his head against a bracket and dropping his sonic screwdriver as instincts screamed, _something is wrong_ -

-Aboard a tramp freighter deep in the Black, River Tam fell screaming from the cargo rail on which she had been walking-

-In a tunnel deep beneath the earth, Alfred Bester paused in midstride and looked towards the unseen sky, smiling-

-Ensconced in his study aboard Craftworld Ulthwé, Farseer Eldrad Ulthran's eyes opened as he felt a ripple in the Immaterium-

-Standing on the bow of the _Princess Cecile_ as she coursed through the Matrix, Lieutenant Leary saw a light in the distance, and frowned, somehow knowing that it boded ill-

-Aboard the _SSV Normandy, _Kaiden Alenko's head whipped towards his console, conversation with Commander Jane Shepherd suddenly forgotten as he felt _something_-

-And space itself _twisted_ around the center of the blast. The Arc-En-Ceil's energy wave warped as it spread. Across the TSAB and Bradeson fleets, mages shouted in alarm as they felt the energy wash across them like a wave of static. On the _Enterprise_, the handful of Vulcans and Betazoids in the ship's company stiffened, feeling splitting headaches coming on.

_Claudia_ reappeared in sidereal space just beyond minimum safe distance from the Arc-En-Ceil blast. A wash of multicoloured energy blocked his view of the dull gray gas giant beyond, taking far longer to fade than any he had seen before. He looked to the scanners and resisted the urge to swear viciously at what he saw. _Sankt Kaiser... I am going to _strangle_ Captain Tacoma. "_Comms. Get me a line to the _Juliet._"

To his credit, Captain Tacoma seemed to realize how much trouble he was in. The normally swarthy man was pale as a sheet. "Admiral."

"Captain Tacoma. There is a _reason_ that Arc En Ciels are not used against ships with active dimensional drives, especially unknown ones. We are looking at that reason now." A glance back at the sensor board, and a growing sense of alarm. "In fact, I think we're looking at an entirely _new _reason."

The older man swallowed visibly.

"Confine yourself to the brig, Captain. I'll deal with you later."

He cut the transmission, turned to the viewscreen. Occulating their view of the sixth planet was far and away the largest magical rift he had ever seen, a spheroid at least fifty kilometers in diameter, and visibly expanding. "Thaum, we need to get a ward on this, and we need it now."

"I'll try sir... but the energy readings on this are off the scale..."

"I know. Do it anyway. Bring in the other ships of the fleet if you have to."

He stared at the rift, a mottle of colours, like a thin layer of oil and grease atop gold, and swallowed hard. _I told Paris that I wasn't worried about a dimensional collapse just yet. Now? Now I am. Sankt Kaiser preserve us all..._


	12. Chapter 11

_Disclaimer: as always, I own none of the worlds this passes through and am not worth suing. Hard to squeeze blood from a rock._

**Chapter Eleven**

_It really is amazing,_ thought Todd Marshal as he drifted, _how pretty a planet is from orbit. And how nice a distraction the sight is when you're waiting for the air to run out._

He'd realized perhaps a minute after ejecting that beacon built into his pilots couch wasn't working. Shortly thereafter he'd had the colossal bad luck to have a piece of floating debris bounce off his shoulder, knocking out the one on his flight suit. He'd spent a few minutes haranguing God for doing this to him before shutting up to safe oxygen. It was unlikely, but still at least plausible that someone would spot him – probably _Enterprise_ with their insane sensors – and scoop him up before he ran out of air or fell out of orbit.

Not for the first time he wished they'd managed to get his _Morningstar_ working in time for that fight. They were brilliant fighters, but temperamental. It was probably just as well, though – they weren't _that_ much faster or more agile than a _Sabre_, and lacked the tailgun, which had kept the tri-winged fighter at a distance for at least a little time.

_Anger, denial... guess I should skip to bargaining with God._

_ So... what do I have to bargain with?_

_ Damn._

The pilot sighed. _At least it's a nice view._

Suddenly, his body started to tingle, and his vision vanished behind a wash of blue light. _**"What the-**_

The wash of light faded, depositing him- suddenly standing and not belted into his seat – in a gray-walled alcove at the back of what looked like a shuttle cabin. "-hell?" he finished weakly.

It was a good sized cabin, with benches running down either side. Against one bulkhead, he saw a young female pilot from _Concordia_, one of Starlight's _Ferret_ jockeys. He couldn't rembember her name - she was cute in a girl-next-door sort of way, but not his type. One of the _Broadsword_ gunners was seated next to her, looking slightly green. They were being attended by a young female with mousy looks, brown hair, and what looked like a pattern of tattoos running along her hairline and down her neck. Idly, he wondered how far down those tattoos went.

On the opposite bulkhead sat five guys in black flight suits, vaguely skull-like helmets at their feet. They were being covered by a no-nonsense type with some kind of gun, his black uniform having yellow shoulders instead of the blue the lady had. And at the bow, he saw a third guy in black-and-colours, his trim being red. The guy turned to where he stood and grinned. "Welcome aboard the _Fraser._ You off of _Concordia_?"

Maniac found his voice again. "Yeah. Lieutenant Colonel Todd Marshal."

"Tom Paris. Have a seat, I'll call your ship and let them know you're okay."

Sizing up the options, Maniac decided to take a seat next to his temporary shipmates, exchanged nods with the gunner. The _Ferret_ pilot looked shaken up, but she seemed to be in good hands with Mousey. He looked at the black suited pilots. "Who're these jokers?"

"Imperial pilots," said Gun.

"You're picking up the bad guys?"

From the front of the shuttle, Tom said, "This is an equal opportunity Search and Rescue ship. If you don't like it we can always put you back."

"No need, this works."

"Thought so." He keyed something on his console. "_USS Fraser _to _TCS Concordia._ I found another one of your EVA pilots – a Todd Marshal."

Even through the com distortion, Blair's voice was distinctive. "_Rodger that, _Fraser_, though you could've left Maniac out there, we wouldn't have minded."_

"I love you too, Mav," he muttered. One of the Imps smirked.

"Sadly, we have to keep what we catch, or I'd throw him back. I'm going to make one more sweep of the battlefield, then I'll bring this load in."

_"Rodger that. _Concordia_ out."_

"Guess there's one in every flight group, eh, Squadron Leader?" said one of the TIE pilots to the fellow next to him.

"One if you're lucky. Between you and your cronies I've got a squadron's worth."

The gunner next to him was smirking. Maniac studiously ignored him, and the others.

_Now this just ain't fair._

_

* * *

_

"The good news is that the wards we have covering that rupture are holding, preventing anything from escaping. The bad news is, it's still expanding. Something is forcing it to continue to expand despite our wards and other spells. The _worse_ news is that at the current rates of expansion, the wards won't be able to hold it any longer after another ninety-six hours or so." Admiral Haralowan looked very tired.

Commodore Hoss nodded agreement. "That matches our estimates. Actually, it's better than our estimates by about four hours." In the face of a massive space-time breach, hostilities had been deferred indefinitely. "We've tried to probe the rupture, but there's so much free-floating magical energy, our probes overload and fry in seconds."

"As do our own," said Chrono, glancing around the conference room.

"Our probes are able to scan within the rift," began Picard, "but their Impulse drives do not function properly within, limiting them to thrusters. I've already forwarded our sensor data to your people; perhaps they can determine what is going on from that. I can definitely confirm that there is _something _alive in there, as several of our probes detected Voidspawn. Generally just before the probes were destroyed."

"Fracking wonderful," muttered Adama. The older man looked exhausted, face drawn. "The one we put in there worked fine," he pulled a sheaf of their odd, corner-clipped printouts from his jacket, "Here's the raw data. Doctor Baltar is still analyzing what he can from it."

Chrono took the sheaf of paper, nodded thanks. "Well. As it stands, we, plain and simple, need more data. Admiral Tolwyn, do you have any kind of probes that might be of use?"

"Not for a situation like this. Our usual scout is a _Ferret_, and I am _not_ putting a manned fighter into some kind of anomaly inhabited by things that eat starships."

Nods went around the table as the various commanders thought that over. "Well," said Chrono finally. "We'll simply have to work with what we can gather. For now," he paused a moment, "For now, I think we need to repair our ships. And for that, we should at least consider pooling our resources."

Hoss shot him a look. "Under the circumstances, Admiral, I hope you'll understand if I respectfully decline to allow any TSAB personnel aboard my ships." The _How stupid do you think I am?_ went unsaid, but all heard it.

Before Chrono could snarl anything back – the fleet's alliance was frail but, at the moment, necessary, Picard jumped in. "As a neutral party in this, I believe _Enterprise_ would be willing to assist." He looked between the two commanders. "_Whoever_ needed the assistance."

Silence stretched for a moment. Adama broke it with a strained chuckle. "I'll take some of that assistance. _Galactica_ is in bad shape. We've got a thirty-meter hole in our armor, one of the primary turrets is a writeoff, and one of the others is welded to its turret ring thanks to that Imperial. Artificial gravity is a bit spotty, and we're still inspecting a few sections of the keel for damage. I'm not too proud to take help, at this point."

* * *

Joffery Hoss absently rubbed at his forehead, trying to will a headache away. He'd waited until the rest of his injured crewmembers had been healed before accepting healing himself – he wasn't in the process of bleeding to death, nor was he concussed; he could wait – and the wait had been less than helpful. His temper was frayed, and he'd let Haralowan get to him. With his fleet in its current state, he needed this alliance with the Bureau as much, or more, than Haralowan did – even if _Galactica_ had been in fighting trim; hells, even if _Galactica_ was another _Metropolis_ class battlecruiser and not an oversized relic; Haralowan's fleet could crush his own. Losing his temper could be fatal to the men and women under his command.

Exiting _Claudia_'s briefing room, he almost ran into a young man in a vaguely familiar uniform, who was glaring at him. "Can I help you, mister..."

"Ranma Saotome," said the youth as he drew himself up. "JSDF. You're the Bradie commander, right?"

_JSDF... Earth. Oh. Joy. Perhaps that black-jacketed Time Lord will show up and make my day _even worse _after this. That's about what it would take. _"Commodore Joffery Hoss, yes. What do you want?"

"I gotta question. I watched that last fight. You people looked like you were tryin' real hard ta not hit the planet."

"Yes. Standard Rules of Engagement." _Oh, this is not going to go well. I think I recognize him from the troop debriefings. He could probably break me in half if he really wanted to._

"So, when you got your clocks cleaned back at Earth, why'd ya try an' flatten my hometown?"

Hoss sighed. "Queen of Ice and Darkness, I _wish_ I knew what in the hells Admiral Kallson was thinking."

Ranma shifted slightly. "You were there?"

_No point in lying about it; I'm sure the Bureau has _that_ much intel on us. _"Yes. I lead the retreat after we withdrew. Admiral Kallson was in overall command, I was his second. The last transmission from his ship was an order to withdraw. Then he maneuvered to fire into the city." A deep breath as the memory of that awful sight played again. "I tried to contact him, ask him what the hells he thought he was doing... but he didn't respond. And then he died."

Ranma studied him in silence. "You ain't kidding, are ya?"

"No, I'm not." He shook his head. "I served with Konrad Kallson for five years. I'd known him for almost two decades before that. I have spent damn near every day since Earth trying to figure out what he was thinking. I'd have sworn he would never even consider an orbital bombardment of _any_ surface target, to say nothing of a civilian one." A pause. _I have to know... but Saotome is probably not the best man to ask. And yet, he's listening, thinking and _not _trying to tear my throat out... _"How many... how many casualties did the bombardment cause?"

"The bombardment itself? None. Sa-" he stopped himself for a moment, then continued. "One of the mages on the ground pulled a miracle out of her ass and threw up a shield. Saved the city."

_None. Merciful gods, thank you._ "I... Thank you. I'm genuinely glad to hear that." He felt himself tearing up. "I'd seen the population estimates for the city and..." He took a ragged breath. "I have spent the last two years thinking that over thirty million people were dead because I couldn't stop Kallson's madness." Another breath. "The next time you see that mage, please, give her my thanks. For what little it's worth."

Ranma's expression was conflicted. "I'll pass it along." For a long moment, the two men gave each other measuring looks. "I'll get outta yer way, I guess. We gotta deal with this rift, after all."

* * *

Ranma watched the man walk to the _Claudia_'s teleporter, looking like he'd just been handed an unexpected reprieve. _So they don't know why he did it, an' it ain't the kinda thing they'd normally do. An' I'm pretty sure he was tellin' the truth. _This was an unexpected side to the enemy, and he wasn't sure how to take it. _Feh. It was easier when I could just hate them._

_

* * *

_

Tritanium, Chief Tyrol decided, was a stone bitch to weld.

That said, the _Enterprise_ people had brought a lot of it – enough sheets to patch up the gaping hole in their armor, and extra to brace the internal sections of the crater. Apparently, they had some kind of manufacturing facilities aboard their ship, and lots of raw materials. _The kind of logistics you'ld need to pull off the sort of exodus we've been jury rigging ourselves through._

The _Enterprise_ people had brought a lot of other stuff, too. Electronics, wire, some kind of miracle sealant that was going a long way to dealing with all the little microleaks in their hull, and lots of engineers. The first shift of engineers had been headed by a dark skinned man with strangely brilliant blue eyes. LaForge had gotten heads-together with him to figure out what all on the Bucket was broken (or, as his mind quirked, the shorter list of what _wasn't_) and gotten his people to work helping with just about everything. Several old, slapdash jury rigs were replaced with much more efficient, new parts. It had taken a little fiddling to get Starfleet power conduits to mate with their Colonial equivalents, but they'd gotten it done, and assembled a long list of parts and materials needed.

Then LaForge and his crew had headed home, relieved by another shift of engineers. A shift lead by a fracking _alien_. There were a few more aliens in her bunch, too, and it was more than a little disconcerting. He'd been incredibly grateful when Torres suggested they suit up and tackle the armor damage first.

Tom Paris, he thought upon reflection, was not quite right in the head. He seemed like a decent guy, for a pilot, but... his chosen lady was nice enough to look at, until you got to her forehead, anyway, but _how_ could he get over that? Insanity.

At least in suits, he didn't have to look at her. He could concentrate on the work. And he had to say, she did _damn_ good work with that welder. So did her people. His own were stepping it up to try and match them, but between their unfamiliarity with the material they were working with, and the fact that it had been a _long_ time since neatness counted for much of anything on _Galactica_, they were struggling.

Still, they were patching up the hole in the Bucket's hull. They were fixing marginal circuits, replacing stuff that he'd personally written off as unrepairable out of their own resources. One of Torres' people had said something about wanting to go over the No. 3 Turret's mounting, in case they might have a way to crack the welds locking it in place – which would be a hell of a trick, but worth giving them a look at.

* * *

It had been a long time since Gaius Baltar had had his nose broken. It hurt about as much as he remembered, though the Bradesons had provided much better drugs for the pain than his father's liquor cabinet had yielded. The Bradeson team had stayed aboard _Galactica_ just long enough to patch up the worst of the air leaks and injured, then turned their attention to the strange golden rift. As it was, the pain was a dull throb, just enough to feel in the back of his teeth when he breathed deeply, the nose itself still wrapped neatly by Cottle. Say what he might about the old Doctor, the fellow knew his business.

Still, the pain couldn't keep him too badly down, not right now. For right now, he was aboard the _USS Enterprise _and surrounded by technologies that beggared his imagination. It also seemed to be beggaring Six's imagination. Ignoring the way it aggravated the pain in his face, he smirked.

From what he'd gathered from the Admiral, after a near-blowup aboard _Claudia_, it was decided by all concerned that in the future, meetings between the higher-ups of the fleet would be best conducted aboard the relatively neutral _Enterprise_ or _Concordia, _rather than either fleet's flagship. Both those ships had the ability to get themselves home without outside help, and levelheaded commanders. Even if _Galactica_ wasn't essentially part of the Bradeson navy now, she was hardly in the condition to host any kind of meetings.

As it had the best science facilities of either of the neutral ships, _Enterprise_ was currently hosting the data analysis/brainstorming session as everyone went over the data gathered by their probes and 'scrying.' He and Felix Gaeta were there, representing _Galactica_, and to their credit they'd reacted well to meeting _Enterprise_'s resident scientific geniuses – those being an albino robot and a woman who would be a vision of beauty to rival Six if she wasn't a cyborg. The younger man was still a little off balance, but doing well as he applied himself to his work. He was talking animatedly with one of the Bradesons involved in the discussion, Mage-Captain Dolce, as they went over the datas gathered by the Colonial probes.

The man's steel-coloured eyes were, in their own way, just as disconcerting as the robot. But Dolce was an intelligent man, and one who seemed to have a knack for conversions between different standard notations. He'd make an excellent scientist, if not for the whole 'mage' thing. And even that... their notion of magic was remarkably well structured, almost a scientific discipline itself.

Still. Something to ruminate on later. For all their oddities, the _Enterprise_ people were genuine scientists. It did his heart good to work with such again. Comparing and contrasting their data, looking for indicators that might help them unravel the mysteries of what that rift was, and how to close it.

He was referencing DRADIS data against the _Enterprise_ probe's life scans at the moment – there were a rather frightening number of Voidspawn within the rift, many of them even larger than the one he'd seen brush aside a BaseStar like it was so much tin foil. Something was niggling at him from the data however. Putting aside the padd for a moment, he picked up another, this one with visual data.

Within the rift, virtually all was golden light. A black mist seemed to permeate it, however, and the 'deeper' the probe had gone, the thicker it got. The deeper portions of the rift were almost impenetrable to the DRADIS. And yet... that didn't quite seem to be what was happening. He made mental notes of that data, checked it against the rough map the StarFleeters had sketched out into a hologram as casually as he might sketch something on a piece of paper. "Interesting," he muttered.

For the first time in an hour or so, Six decided to make a nuisance of herself as he picked up another padd, this one with Enterprise's radiological scan. "You seek to divine wisdom from things you know nothing about. This is futile, Gaius. Give up and save yourself the trouble."

"And you seek to distract me from solving this fracking problem," he muttered under his breath. The mutter got him odd looks from a few of the others, but he ignored them for the moment. The radiation spread... "Felix, you're better with DRADIS readings than I am... Can you tell me if there was a proper contact at these co-ordinates? I can't tell through the interferance." He scribbled down the numbers for roughly where he thought his radiation source was.

The younger man quickly checked. "It... definitely could be."

Baltar started adding the information he'd found to their map as mages of both fleets began looking more closely at the radiation data.

* * *

"So there's some sort of structure in there?" asked Picard.

"Yes, Captain," said Data. "Based on the radiation it is emitting, both the Bradeson and Bureau mages believe it is responsible for the rift's continued expansion and refusal to close."

"Fascinating. From this data it appears to be rather deep in there... and, I notice, surrounded by Voidspawn." He glanced from the padd to Data. Thank God the android had been there – he'd kept Picard in check during the battle, kept him on an even keel. And he'd done it without appearing to do much of anything. Why Starfleet refused to give Data a command of his own continued to baffle him, for he had proven that he most definitely had the requisite qualities.

Still, for the moment, he was grateful to have him as a subordinate. "Thank you, we shall have to work out a way to deal with that structure."

Data nodded, then frowned at his console. "Sir... I am detecting a subspace carrier wave."

_That shouldn't be possible... _thought Picard. They were, after all, in the wrong dimension. He turned to his own console. "Now that's interesting..." There was indeed a carrier wave, and some Starfleet traffic on it. "I need a full spectrum, long-range scanner sweep."

The system itself seemed unchanged. Planets, one inhabited, the rift, Star Destroyer stationary near a rogue asteroid in the outer system, still appearing to suffer from some kind of power fluctuations. Beyond the system...

Beyond the system it seemed as if space... split. They could see what almost looked like reflections, the same stretch of interstellar space repeated dozens, if not hundreds of times. "Put me through to _Claudia_, now."

* * *

"Tacoma's going to be remembered for something. He's managed to find an entirely _new_ way to imperil the multiverse." Chrono pinched the bridge of his nose, frustrated.

_"So this isn't something you've seen before?"_ asked Captain Picard over the link.

"No. It's something we've speculated about, but mostly as a 'worst case scenario' sort of thing. For all intents and purposes, this star system currently exists in every universe across the multiverse. Which means that when our wards fail, the Voidspawn will be able to attack _everywhere._"

_"Unless we stop them here, or find a way to close the rift."_

"Yes. I've contacted HQ, and unfortunately they can't get any significant re-enforcements to us before the wards fail. It's a tossup if Hoss will have better luck."

_"I shall put in a request for reinforcements to Starfleet Command right away." _A pause. _"And Admiral, the thought occurs... if this is an immanent threat to all universes, if we can see them all... perhaps there are other groups like your own, who might be able to help. We might consider calling for aid more... generally."_

_

* * *

_

It had taken damn near all of a shift, but they'd gotten the hole patched over, and an almost perfectly airtight seal – made better by application of the Starfleet sealant from the inside. More Starfleeters would be along later to help some more, but for now, they were on their own. Tyrol wasn't about to let stop all the work, though – the lucky bastards who'd been off duty while his bunch were out on the hull went to work on the internal bracing.

After getting that crew moving, he took as long a shower as he could get away with. It felt damned good after being stuck in a suit for so long. Toweling off, he pulled on his least dirty overalls and headed out, in the general direction of the bar. He needed a fracking drink...

"Chief, we need to talk."

Tyrol paused, turned. "Yes, Admiral?" What did Adama want with him? At the older man's nod, he followed him to a side corridore.

The Admiral's expression was grim. "Chief, we have a problem."

_Just one?_ "Sir?"

"Right now, we've got the best chance we're ever likely to see to get this ship back in proper fighting trim, because the _Enterprise_ people want to help us. I just got off the horn with Captain Picard." Adama's eyes hardened. "He's not happy with you, and from what I'm hearing, he's got every right." A glare cut off his attempt at justifying himself. "I don't give a damn if you're not comfortable around some of his people. They're trying to _help_ us. We can't afford to lose that help. So your people had better stop antagonizing them."

"I... Sir, it's just talk.. we.." A pause as he gathered his thoughts. "You're right sir. I wasn't thinking. It's just..."

"They aren't human, so why give a frack about what you say?"

Tyrol winced. "Yessir."

"You know better than that, Galen." A pause, and a glare that should by rights blow a hole straight through the hull. "You were fracking Boomer, after all."

Tryol winced hard. That hurt. That hurt a lot. He'd really... "Point taken, sir. I'll tell everyone to rein it in."

"Do that. Torres is going to be back with the next crew in eight hours. I'm not expecting your people to be perfect gentlemen, but you _will _be respectful and professional. Am I understood?"

"Absolutely, sir."

* * *

Lina was still pale this morning, but less so than she'd been at the end of the space fight. She'd collapsed then, crumpled to a heap at his feet. Zel and Amelia hadn't been in much better shape. Now though, she looked like the far side of a bender, but she was standing on her own. As far as Gourry was concerned, that was a definite improvement.

"So they aren't still up there?" Asked Lina.

"Not all of them," said Zelgaddis, "But most of them. I don't think they've gone far, though. You remember Nanoha, don't you, Lina? I don't think she'd leave people behind."

"True."

_Nanoha.. Nanoha... Right! That fight against five major Mazoku with the guy with the massive sword. I think she was the one in white? _"She'd be really nice to have around here when that Mazoku army gets here," said Gourry.

"Yes, she would," agreed Lina, nodding slowly. "Zel, do you still have that grimoire they gave you? It might have some way to contact them."

* * *

_I should know better than to open my big, fat mouth,_ thought Lina as she sat within a well-crafted but still rather uncomfortable array of spells. _Claudia_'s bridge was larger and better appointed than _Pauline_'s was, but that didn't make this much more comfortable.

And her seat wasn't really the issue. She didn't have to look through the main viewport to _feel_ the presence of the massive rift, a rift that felt as though it lead directly into the Sea of Chaos. And yet, it wasn't... pure. It felt like there was something else there, something tainting the energy. It had her on edge. Thinking back, it was probably what was putting her on edge for the last few weeks.

Ah well. At least they knew that Seyruun's White Magic wards were working properly – _Claudia_ had tried to scry for her yesterday, and hadn't been able to find her. With the wards working, they had a chance.

Gourry was sort of hovering near her, talking swords with the blonde mage, Fate. He'd been doing a lot of hovering lately. She wasn't sure what she thought about that. It wasn't like she _cared _about him in that sort of way, but having him close was kind of... nice. In a 'all mages like having a meat shield around' sort of way.

Energy arced across two runes of the spell matrix, not for the first time. She winced. There was just so much raw _power_ floating around that rift, power that seemed to flow into her even without her trying. It was a thin flow, and she could feel something trying to cut it off, but it was constant, and every so often the spells around her tried to overload because of it.

Nanoha lead the ship's captain over. "It looks like we've isolated as much information as we can."

"Can I get out of this, please?"

Nanoha nodded at one of the techs, and the array shut down. Lina stood and stretched. "Thanks." She saw Zel start back towards them.

The captain said, "It looks like the energy you're tapping is the primary energy in that rift, but it shouldn't be forcing it open further. But the information let us isolate what _is_ causing it to force itself open."

"That's a good thing, right?"

"Yes. Yes it is. We should be able to fix this now," he said with a smile.

"I'm glad to hear that," said Zel as he joined them. "Now that that's out of the way, we've got a bit of a problem, too..."

* * *

"So. There's something in there that doesn't belong. From what all your experts, and the people from groundside, are saying it looks like it's in that structure we got on the DRADIS." Adama waited a moment for a nod from Haralowan. "Looking at the data, given where it is it'd be a hell of a trick to shoot it from here. I take it we're sending something in to take it out?"

"That is part of the current plan, yes," said Admiral Haralowan. "That said... The extremely magic-rich nature of the rift would cause it to overload and destroy our systems, and the Bradesons." He and Hoss exchanged nods. "And from previous experimentation, we know that _Enterprise_'s main drive won't work in there."

_Oh, I think I see where this is going..._ He turned to Tolwyn. "And _Concordia_?"

The Admiral gave an apologetic frown. "My tech teams have analyzed the rift as best we can from here. The energy in there would cause our Anti-Matter Cannon blasts to detonate almost as soon as they left the barrel. We'd be effectively helpless."

_I knew it. Frack. _"So that means we're the goat."

Chrono winced. "I wouldn't put it quite _that _way... but yes, _Galactica_ is the only ship in the fleet that can get in there and take direct action. We plan to hit the Voidspawn before you go in, try and draw their attention squarely upon us. The scan data we have suggests that the Voidspawn are avoiding the structure as well."

Adama thought it over, reviewed the probe data in his head. "And even if we weren't out of missiles, our anti-capital ship missiles don't have the endurance to reach that far under power. If anything made them drift off course they wouldn't be able to correct." A glace to Hoss. "And yours would just overload?"

"A disadvantage to magically powered tech is the rare case where you find a place like this. But under most circumstances, they're quite excellent."

Picard broke in over Adama's frustrated sigh. "I dislike the situation as well. And while there is little _Enterprise _can do directly to aid in this, we _will_ continue to aid your crew in repairing your ship, and if possible upgrading some of your components. If nothing else, if you have the design specs of those anti-capital ship missiles, we should be able to manufacture some. Likely with upgraded warheads."

Adama couldn't help it; he smiled a deadly, razorlike smile. "I like the sound of that, at least."

A few chuckles rounded the room as the officers relaxed slightly. Then Chrono cleared his throat, bringing the meeting back to order. "That brings us to the next issue. While they were aboard assisting us, Mages Inverse and Graywords informed us that their home city is under seige by an army of demons. An army of demons that began to march when the anomalies we've been investigating started forming. Given the energies of those anomalies, they believe, and my analysts agree, that these demons are being driven by those anomalies, at the very least becoming more aggressive because of them. They've requested military aid to deal with the attack." A pause. "If nothing else, I feel a little responsible – if we'd been faster tracking this down and defusing it, they might not have this problem." He let that sink in for a moment. "I've already conferred with my own Marines and Enforcers. They'll be aiding in the defense."

Hoss was quick to speak up. "I'll speak to mine as well, though my fleet doesn't have a dedicated troop component. We've got a few squads of marines per ship, and the security teams, but not much of our heavy gear." The look he shot Haralowan said this was as much a desire not to be seen as callous as much as a desire to aid the strangers.

Tolwyn and Picard were silent. The former frowned, the latter looked stricken. "I can't spare any of my troops," said Tolwyn. "They've got the best part of three-hundred Imperial prisoners to keep in line. Unless that Star Destroyer skulking around the outer system wants to take them off my hands."

"They left shortly after the multiverse opened," said Picard. "And as best I can tell, they made no reply to our reports of having made prisoners of their pilots." A pause as Tolwyn snarled. Adama could feel his own face twist – that was no way to treat your men. "I fear my hands are tied – The world below is manifestly not a warp-capable one, and Starfleet's Prime Directive is quite strict." An apologetic frown. "I have few personnel to begin with."

"I think I'll have to say no as well," said Adama. "I don't like the idea, but if we're heading into that rift, I'm going to need our Marines on _Galactica_ to work damage control."

Chrono nodded. "I understand, gentlemen. Let's move on; we have much to do and little time."

* * *

Despite his worry and stubborn, niggling headache, Luke couldn't help but smile as he put his X-Wing down on _Mon Remonda_'s flight deck. Shutting down, he popped the canopy and swung down to the deck, ignoring Artoo's muttered bleep about him not waiting, and pulled Wedge into a hug. "Good to see you Wedge. Hope you didn't catch it for offering to help me at Sluis Van. I heard you guys had a weird run-in."

"A squadron leader's too small time to make an example of," Wedge said as they headed for the ready room, exchanging nods with a few other Rogues. "We did, Luke, but we're still here. What brings you out here?"

"Intuition. Something happened last night..."

Corran Horn started at Luke's statement. "Wait, you too? Huh. It woke me up, whatever it was. And you felt it clear out on Coruscant?"

"Yes. A disturbance in the Force. And I felt another, smaller one while I was on my way out here."

"Interesting. And funny you should head out this way, because we just intercepted the _weirdest_ transmission..."

* * *

The Klingon Bird-of-Prey _Rotarran _looked like it had received a few upgrades since last Picard had seen it. He smiled at the thought – Chancellor Martok, it seemed, was still bound and determined to do his duties on his terms and no-one else's. The ship almost looked out of place leading a squadron of _Vor'cha_ class ships and an additional wing of Birds-of-Prey. A lone _Negh'Var _class warship lurked at the tail of the formation, looking almost forlorn.

"Incoming transmission from the _Rotarran_, sir."

"On screen." Picard hid his smile as the view switched to _Rotarran_'s bridge. Which looked downright _cramped_ with its normal complement plus half a dozen Imperial Guard surrounding the Chancellor. "Chancellor Martok. I confess that I did not expect you to personally respond to our call for aid."

The one-eyed Klingon smiled. "A coincidence, Captain. I was inspecting one of our border squadrons when your call came through. As we were closest, I decided to lead our response personally." The smile widened slightly. "And Ambassador Worf is with me. How is your force organized?"

"If you'll join me aboard, I'll be more than happy to help integrate your forces."

* * *

The transfer elevators clanked as they locked into the flight deck, and USS _Fraser_'s hatch popped. Tyrol and Paris exchanged nods. "Welcome back, Lieutenant." Further down the flight deck, _Shuswap_ opened as well.

"Thanks. How're the repairs going?"

"A lot better. You're early."

"Not picking up, just dropping off. We've got the first batch of missiles for you."

Tyrol shot a glance at a few deck crew who'd been loitering to listen. "Hear that? Make yourselves useful and grab the dollys, people. We've got ordnance to move." He turned back to Tom, who was opening the rear hatch of the Runabout. "How many?"

"Three dozen missiles, so we're going to need a few trips to get 'em all over."

"I envy you your machine shops. I'd kill to have that much manufacturing capacity at my disposal."

"It does come in handy from time to time," he said with a wistful look. "Anyway. Here's the first set."

The dimensions looked the same, thought the casing was the paler gray that Starfleet favored instead of the Colonial gray he was used to. "They look about right."

"We used the same guidance package you guys gave us, matched the dimensions. The warhead and detonators are ours though."

"What's the new warhead?" asked Tyrol as he leaned in to inspect some of the casing seams.

"Three kilos of antimatter."

_Antimatter... _Eyes wide, Tyrol took a step back. "Are you serious?"

"Yep. Should be a hell of a lot more potent than the fission device you were using." Tom's eyes had a mischievous twinkle. "Don't worry – the containment fields are perfectly stable, they're safe until they hit their target."

The first dolly arrived at the hatch. Forcing himself to keep his voice steady, Tyrol said, "Guys, be extremely careful with these."

* * *

_There are times,_ thought Xellos, _when I genuinely envy humans. Right about now is one of them. I would _kill_ for the ability to just tell Zelas to drop this idea._ Contrary to his thoughts, he could only say, "Greater Beast, I urge you to think again. We have _all_ felt the changes in the Sea of Chaos these last weeks, and the greater change just past... There is more going on than we can see."

His patron waved away his concerns. "What is there to know? Something is affecting the Sea of Chaos. Whatever it is, it keeps the Lord Of Nightmares from hearing us, but leaves Her power available. Indeed, in greater amounts than we've had at our disposal since the Koma War."

"Certainly, but that something is not in Seyruun. I don't even think it's on this world."

She gave him an amused look. "You worry too much, Xellos. I think you've been spending too much time around Humans." She shook her head. "Something not of this world. It's certainly not the work of the Shinzoku; it's energy is all wrong for that. And I doubt it to be from beyond this world – what _is _there beyond this world? Just play your part, Xellos. Our victory is assured."

She vanished into the Astral, leaving Xellos alone with his thoughts. They ran to a strange fanged boy, who sure as all hells wasn't from this world. _If I spend too much time among humans, you have not spent _enough, he thought. But he had no choice, his nature prevented him. He would see this siege through and crush Seyruun. After that, who knew what the future would hold?

He just hoped that, whenever this blew up in his patron's faces, he'd be there to say 'I told you so.'

* * *

Colonel Christopher Blair felt the urge to whoop as he pulled the TIE Interceptor through a loop.

The captured fighters were hellaciously fast, decently armed, and extremely maneuverable. Just testing it out was a thrill. But he wouldn't fly one in combat on any kind of bet. Hits that even a _Salthi_ would have shrugged off had shredded these things in the big brawl.

Unfortunately, some of their people would probably have to. Sparks and her fellow techs were working miracles, repairing and rebuilding damaged fighters, even digging wholesale into the spares and putting two _Rapier_s together out of them entirely, but that wasn't enough to replenish their losses. They'd captured a lot of TIE Fighters and TIE Interceptors, which were being put to the test now.

If they were lucky, Maniac would be one of them. But he'd seen Sparks and some of her better techs underneath his _Morningstar_. They were desperate enough for fighters to try and fight with the temperamental things. And truth to tell, he wished them luck. The _Morningstar_ would never be his fighter of choice, but it had its merits. And they needed every fighter they could get.

Which included these TIEs. After _Stalker_ left the system and abandoned them, several of the captured Imperial pilots had come forward, offering technical help with the things. A few had reacted... less well than that. One of them, _Stalker_'s wing commander, was currently under sedation in the medical bay, both to repair his throat and keep him from trying again. He felt particularly betrayed by the situation, and had apparently considered _Stalker_'s captain an old friend. Several of his fellow prisoners seemed surprised at his reaction, and said that they were surprised the Star Destroyer had stuck around as long as it did.

If the suicide-sleds they called fighters hadn't soured the Confederate pilots on the Imperial navy, the way it considered its fighter jocks expendable certainly would have.

Still. Joyride time was over; it was time to head back to the barn. One impressively quick run back to _Concordia_ later, he gently landed the fighter and popped the hatch.

Angel was waiting for him on the deck. "How was it, mon ami?"

"A racing ship with guns on it. But I wouldn't fly one in combat for any money." He glanced towards the deck crew starting to scramble over it. "Sparks have any luck finding a way to mount some shields on them?"

"Non. She says it's mostly a power issue – their systems use a much higher amperage and she hasn't time to cobble up a converter."

"Lovely. How are we deciding who flies these things when we go after the squids?"

"The Admiral has left that to me to decide." She was frowning. "I want to ask for volunteers, given how unsafe they are, but we need our best pilots where they have their most experience. So if it becomes necessary, I will likely be assigning them to the backup pilots, and regulars without a fighter for this mission."

Blair looked back at the TIE Interceptor he'd just tested out. "Hopefully it won't get that dangerous."

"Le temps nous dira."

* * *

"Incredible. It's like we've jumped into the middle of somebody's godawful fanfiction," said Colonel Steven Caldwell.

"Or Super Robot Wars: Spaceship Edition," muttered Rodney McKay.

John Sheppard was scrolling through the imagery they'd captured of the ships around them. "This is nuts. There's got to be a hundred ships here, and lots of different designs. There's one that looks like a World War Two battleship of all things."

McKay looked through the scans. "I think it kind of is. That's the _Space Battleship Yamato._" He paused. "I suppose for the sake of argument it could be the _Argo_ instead, but I doubt it." There was another brief silence as they all considered the collection of ships around them. "Am I the only one here who would _love _to try and get some autographs? Picard, Leary, Adama, Blake..."

Lt. Simons, from SG-2, muttered, "Starwind, Okita, Harlock..." At a glance from O'Neill, he said, defensively, "What, a man's not allowed to enjoy Anime?"

"Aren't two of the people you want autographs from space pirates?" O'Neill asked mildly.

"Uhm..."

Carter rescued him. "That's somewhat besides the point. If you want autographs, they'll probably want to know why. And I don't think any of them will like the explanation 'because you're a famous fictional character where I come from.'"

O'Neill broke the ensuing silence with a chuckle. "Either way, we're here. Fleet flag was Haralowan, yes? Let's let them know we're here to help, and see what needs to be done."

* * *

Keeping half an eye on his Bradeson counterpart – a tough battleaxe of a woman in one of the relatively few power armored suits their shipboard security teams kept handy – Tomas Aston resisted the urge to snarl. The city of Seyruun sprawled below him as he walked behind Enforcers Takamachi and Testarossa-Haralowan. Ranma was to his left, and the younger man wasn't making an effort not to snarl at the commander of the Bradeson detachment. He was glad to have the aquatransexual along for this. Gladder that they were leaving Ryoga aboard - the fanged boy's apology for attacking his squad had rung distinctly hollow, and he didn't trust him.

Leading them along the tall marble wall were four locals – three mages and a swordsman. Ranma'd worked with them in the past, and he rated them highly, especially the redhead. Several others were with them, some from the _Daedalus – _lead by a man who wore general's rank but whose bearing _screamed_ that he was a proper soldier and not some desk jockey taking a quick trip to look like he actually cared about his men – and a few big, heavy-foreheaded aliens called Klingons. The leader of that pack had introduced himself, but Aston doubted he'd be able to pronounce his name without mangling it horribly.

One of the _Daedalus_ people was looking at something in the city, pointing at some bit of architecture or another and babbling about what cultural influences must have gone into it. Aston looked at the building he was pointing at, and failed to see anything special about it. It looked like most any building kicking around this city. It _was _a nice city, in a quaint sort of way. And given the general tech level, that was as well as could be said.

_These buildings wouldn't look all _that _out of place in a few places on the Mid. Weird thing, this travel. _At least the city looked decently defensible. They'd need that edge; there were some frighteningly powerful beings in the horde marching on them, their progress marked, like any other army, by the smoke and fire of its passing.

The people of the city seemed friendly enough, and confident that their armies and mages would hold off the attack; especially with the aid of outside help, some of whom apparently knew the local Princess. He'd have to pull the details out of Ranma at some point, because he'd managed to miss that part.

The glasses-wearing talky one was pointing at another building. Truth to tell, it was an interesting looking city. And a clean one for the general tech level. Aston wasn't totally sold on the whole 'all major boulevards are on top of the walls' part, but he could see some merit to it defensively. And all those walls probably worked a treat for keeping the poor in their section of the city and away from the rich and powerful. A snort. _I'm getting cynical in my old age._

Strange though the city might be in some ways, some things a man could recognize right away. Like that tavern in the wall's shadow, near the main gates. And the establishment next to it, which looked rather like a house of negotiable affection. He might have to recon those places. For the mission, you know, in case the outer wall got breached.

Certainly not because it'd been... a while. And even so, he was a single man on deployment, not some plaster saint.

Another look around the gathered soldiers. This one was going to be interesting, but at least he was in good company for it. Even with the Bradies along, though at least their commander – Captain Mito Cagiva if he remembered the introductions right – seemed a competent woman. She caught his gaze, smirked. "Penny for your thoughts?"

"Wondering how much of a bitch this fight's going to be."

Cagiva shrugged, an exaggerated motion in the armor, and said, "Unless they're ridiculously powerful or invulnerable we should be able to hold them at the outer wall. If we _can't _hold them there, the ground-level streets should make for one hell of a street fight." A shrug. "And from what my armor is telling me, the entire damned city is a ward. Should weaken those ugly suckers if they get inside."

"Huh." She gave him an odd look. "Thought you weren't a mage."

She snorted. "The armor's not just for show."

"Fair enough. Even with that ward... well, absent intelligence to the contrary, assume the enemy is not an idiot. They have to know about that ward, and they're coming anyway. They've probably got some kind of counter."

Ranma glanced back from where he was walking. "We gotta lot of firepower on our side. I've seen Lina in action; she's a match for Nanoha when she's tryin'." A pause. "But yeah, they probably gotta trick'r two. From what Zel an' Lina 're sayin' ta Nanoha an' Fate, the boss demon is a smart guy who loves tricky plans."

Cagiva and Tomas were both giving Inverse a measuring look. _If he's serious... well, another S+ mage can't hurt for this kind of nonsense._ "So a powerful trickster is leading the invasion. Hope they have some ideas to counter him."

"They could be double-bluffing," said Mito with a frown. "I mean, if this guy's so famous for being tricky, having him running the show over there would get the good guys second guessing everything, and planning for anything _but_ the obvious..."

_I see where she's going with this. Damn. _"Then if he gets here and goes 'hey diddle diddle, straight up the middle,' it'll take them by surprise. Hope someone thought of that."

Ranma closed his eyes for a moment. "Nanoha says they're keeping that in mind."

The marine blinked. "Did you just telepathically contact the commander of your detachment out of the blue and tell her what to do?"

"Uh.. yeah. It's kinda what I do."

"Gods below, how did you survive long enough to become a Warrant in any decent Service?"

"Captain Cagiva," said Tomas, trying not to laugh. "He's in a special situation. His planet needs every special talent it can get its hands on."

Ranma nodded, wearing a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Yep. Ya know the JSDF is hurtin' fer bodies when they come an' draft a guy like me." The pretense at humor vanished. "But either way, we c'n hold our own inna fight."

Her eyes widened at his mention of the JSDF. "Oh. _That_ Ranma Saotome. You made an impression on our troops."

Ranma turned back to the front of the group. "Good."

* * *

_There are more would-be heroes in the universe than I'd expected to see. It's actually quite heartening._ Chrono looked over the tactical view at the gathered impromptu fleet. In twelve hours, their wards would fail and their gambit to draw the Voidspawn close to the rift would begin. If it went well, _Galactica_ would be able to jump into the portal and blow the device holding it open to atoms by liberal application of antimatter. Gods, Starfleet was certifiable, using that stuff as fuel. If ever a pure-science substance was created that did a better job of destroying anything it touched, the TSAB had never found it. Hell, it beat out most magical substances in a pure volume to destruction ratio, which was impressive. Enough of it would do the job nicely on just about anything.

Still, they'd have to lure the creatures away from the rift to give _Galactica _enough time. They had quite the fleet for it; rag tag, yes, but while several ships had arrived alone – Roj Blake's _Liberator_, Captain Vivian's _Nirvana, _James Raynor's _Hyperion_, and a dozen others – several had arrived in groups. Captain Onoma's _Mon Remonda_ was at the head of a small fleet, Chancellor Martok at the head of his Klingons... they would fight well, he thought.

A few... he was less confident about. Not about their courage or willingness to aid – one could not spend five minutes in the same room as Daniel Leary and _not_ think the man sincere – but of the technical merit of their ships. Those, he planned to place in a reserve formation. He was not so ungrateful as to turn down an offer of help, but he wasn't about to deliberately get them killed if he could at all avoid it.

Though if that 'Doctor' with a blue box and a scarf-of-many-colours showed up, he'd consider it. The obnoxious prick seemed to be a walking nexus of havoc, and _that_ they did not need.

A glance at the board. Shuttles were converging on _Claudia _from all over the fleet. Time to get ready to organize this fleet for battle.

* * *

Commander Jane Shepherd, Alliance Military, Spectres, shook her head as she walked away from the audience chamber. Haralowan's briefing had been... enlightening. There were a lot of strong willed captains in this scratch fleet, and that didn't bode well. But none of them, after looking at the rift or the fractured space around it, could deny that this was major.

A hole in space that threatened at least one inhabited system. And the planet's largest city was about to be besieged, by what the locals claimed – and the fleet's nominal leaders agreed – were demons. _And why not? You spent months hunting a myth._ She suppressed the urge to shudder at the thought of Sovereign.

Walking beside her, Wrex said, "An interesting situation, Shepherd. And a dangerous one."

"Agreed." _A city under siege. A rift about to dispense killer space monsters. Hell of a choice._ Absently, she rubbed at her scars. They _ached_, sometimes. "We'll help with the space battle. The ground fight's certainly not trivial, but one planet doesn't weigh up against the universe." A sigh. "God. Dimensional stuff. I didn't like it last time and I don't much like it now. If that Brit with the phone box shows up again, I'll jam that sonic screwdriver of his where the sun don't shine."

Wrex nodded, the big Krogan seeming content with that. He hadn't been around for that incident, but he'd heard the stories.

About two intersections before they reached the hanger, two humans came up from a side corridor. They wore green uniforms that looked oddly familiar to her eye. One of them had the look of a soldier or pilot, the other a scientist. The soldier looked at her and Wrex, and started. She wondered idly if it was because of the Krogan or her rather vivid scars. "Uh, hi."

She gave him a look. "Hello. Who might you be?"

He collected himself. "Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard, Stargate Command." He pointed a thumb at his companion. "Rodney McKay, also Stargate Command." The shorter man nodded in acknowledgment of the introduction.

_Oh, what can it hurt? _"Commander Jane Shepherd, Alliance Military, and my compatriot, Wrex."

John smiled. "Good to meet you both. Can't say I'm looking forward to this fight, but it's nice knowing we've got a S-" McKay elbowed him in the ribs. "Uh, nice knowing we've got some solid backup."

That drew a smile from her. "It'll be a nice change for us, too. Later, then." She started off.

John smiled, nodded to her compatriot. "Wrex."

The Krogan returned it. "Sheppard."

* * *

John and Rodney watched Shepherd and Wrex walk down the corridor. As they rounded the next bend, John turned to the Canadian. "I called it. Renegade FemShep. Pay up."

Grumbling something unflattering, McKay reached for his wallet.

* * *

Sitting in his cockpit, Wedge felt the adrenaline begin to flow. They'd be getting this party started shortly. Luke was flying with the Rogues, filling in for one of his pilots who'd been injured in their last big fight. It was good to be flying with him again, even under the circumstances.

The Rogues, Wraiths, and other assorted squadrons of their task force was formed up just ahead and below _Mon Remonda_, preparing for what promised to be one massively confused fight. At least they, and the other assorted fighter groups, had managed to find a common comm frequency to co-ordinate with.

It was one hell of a big fighter force. He'd co-ordinated with the various wing commanders involved, Devereaux from TCS _Concordia_, Susumu from _Yamato,_ Felix from EAS _Titans, _and Gisborn off of _Nirvana__._ They'd mostly be trying not to shoot each-other while they dealt with the Squids. A memory twigged yet again; they'd co-ordinated aboard _Concordia_, and while he'd only really talked to Devereaux, he'd seen a few of their other pilots kicking around. One of them niggled at him, like he'd seen the guy before, impossible as that might be.

At least, visually, the _Starfurie_s off of _Titans_ and her cohorts were a reasonable visual match to X-Wings, and their foes were nothing if not distinct. That'd make it easier on his people and theirs. But this was still going to be painful.

_Speaking of..._ He keyed the group comm. "This is Rogue Leader to all New Republic fighters. When they drop the ward, we're the first line against any of those little squids. Stay sharp and watch your fire – I don't want to have to explain any friendly fire incidents to our allies. Especially don't shoot the TIEs. They're friendly."

He paused a moment for a breath, and perhaps perdictably, Wraith Leader – Face Loran – chimed in. "_Not like that's new for us Wraiths._"

Wedge couldn't help himself, he smiled at that. "Yes, we've all heard about how bad your supply situation could get." Nevermind hearing about it, he'd _been_ there for most of it personally. "And if the spooks can manage to keep it straight, the rest of us pilots shouldn't have a problem." The clock was ticking down now, in less than a minute it'd be time to fight. "Stay sharp, and may the Force be with you."

The comm was overridden by Admiral Haralowan. "_All ships, this is Fleet Flag. We will be dropping the ward in thirty, three-zero, seconds."_

Wedge exhaled slowly, long honed instincts checking over his instruments and readouts. He was as ready as he was going to be.

In a crimson flash, the ward vanished, and the oily glow of the rift shone brighter. For a long moment, nothing seemed to happen...

And then a _thing_ out of some mad old tale; a leviathan that put even the greatest of the Squids they'd seen previously to shame; surged out.

It's main body was almost half a kilometer in diameter, five kilometers long, and with scores of tentacles trailing behind it almost half-again as far. Around it, lesser creatures swarmed, looking like minnows in its wake.

Its baleful red eyes glared at all who surrounded it with a fire to burn clean to the soul, and it opened it's beak, loosing a mental scream that stunned every living man in the fleet.


	13. Chapter 12

_Disclaimer: ya know what? You know the drill at this point. I don't own these characters or worlds, I'm just playing around._

Chapter 12

Pain.

Soul-searing, nigh-elemental pain blazed through his mind at the mental touch of the massive Voidspawn. Chrono Haralowan knew he should be giving the order to fire; knew he should be doing something, _anything... _but it hurt too much to try and think. He heard people screaming, felt his throat burn in a way that suggested he was one of them. On the screen, he saw the Voidspawn lazily turn towards his ship, a baleful red eye looking at him with an expression of ageless malice and rage.

And then a wave of green blasts hammered into its flesh as the Klingons opened fire.

The act spurred the rest of the fleet into action. _Mon Remonda_ and her cohorts responded fastest, red turbolaser blasts streaking towards the target, followed closely by missiles streaking in from _Princess Cecile_, Hoss' ships, the _Yamato,_ and others. Fire began to avalanche down in the mighty creature, a non-trivial percentage of it absorbed by the various lesser Voidspawn surrounding it, their bodies acting as ablative armor.

The bulk of the _Liberator_ closed from it's position spinward of the rift. Almost lost beneath the psionic screams, Roj Blake's voice crackled over the comm frequencies. "_Anyone on the opposite side of the Rift from _Liberator_ had best get their radiation shields up." _He gave a few moments for the other ships to react, and then the neutron cannons on each of the ship's three nacelles began vomiting fire.

Lightning began to crackle along the mighty creature's tentacles, and they reached towards _Liberator, _throwing a wave of blasts at the big ship. The neutron fire chopped off as _Liberator_ raised her Force Wall, catching most of the volley. The big ship shuddered under the touch of eldritch lightning. Even before the lightning subsided, the creature's scream began to fade as more and more fire poured into it. _Hyperion_ loosed a massive crimson bolt, while _Titans_ and _Enchantress_ lashed out with particle beams and waves of cannon fire.

The faltering scream of the Voidspawn took on a mournful tone, and it began to lash out indiscriminately with its lightning bolts. Several of the lesser creatures attacked as well, drawing some ships from attacking the big one, but it was too little, too late. The mighty creature's struggles ceased, and it began to drop towards the gas giant below.

* * *

_Xellos, I'd give up a Claire Bible to know what you're planning over there._

Lina stood beside Nanoha, and Fate on Seyruun's outer wall, looking over the gathered horde of Mazoku. They had formed up in reasonable order, and were chanting fell battle cries as they prepared to fight.

The defenders of Seyruun were arrayed atop the outer wall, facing them. Ranks of pikemen and archers stood atop the wall, interspersed with knots of offworlders who had come to lend them aid. TSAB Marines, Bradesons(some in powered armor, others in shipsuits) the fearsome looking Klingons, and some more or less normal humans with fancy firearms.

Above the Mazoku ranks floated Xellos, looking as smug as always. He was silent, apparently content to let his forces speak for him. At a grunt beside her, Lina turned. Prince Philionel was glaring across the plain of monsters, expression stoic. "Should you be out here, your Highness?"

"A Prince should not be seen to cower," he muttered. "More of them than I expected. Our city will be tested, today."

Lina was about to reply when a terrible laugh cut through the roars of the demonic horde, and she recoiled, recognizing it. It was a laugh she'd hoped and prayed she'd never hear again; a laugh from her past. Beside her, Amelia and Prince Philionel both stiffened, seeming to recognize it as well. Looking across the battlefield, she could see it's source, a tall, buxom woman standing atop a small rise.

Some small part of her mind recognized the spell she was using to make her voice carry. Most of her mind was gibbering. "How crass!" shouted the distant figure as her laugh came to its end. "As Princess of this fair city, I will not allow a single one of you fowl Mazoku to attack it's walls. For I am Gracia Ul Naga Seyruun, and I have come to save my city!" A moment's lull as Lina's brain tried to restart itself. _Princess? Naga? What?_ Naga, or whoever she was, was gathering power for another spell.

_**"MEGA VU VRAIMER!"**_shouted Naga as she cast, and beneath her feet the ground surged upward, forming into a massive golem. It loosed a roar like granite shattering and charged towards the flank of the Mazoku army, Naga perched upon its shoulder.

The massive golem gathered speed, arms and legs pumping, and it crashed through the Mazoku lines by main force, the impact sending flying those creatures it did not crush beneath stone feet, fists sweeping before it like brooms as it charged straight for Xellos. From her perch atop it's shoulder, Naga began to fire volleys of Freeze Arrow spells into the serried ranks.

A desultory barrage of spells flew back at them, but the shock of the charge, and more than a little fire from the defenders on the walls capitalizing on it, kept it from being organized. For his part, Xellos simply hovered in midair, smirking and unconcerned.

The false priest almost within reach, the golem raised its arms, hands coming together into a doubled fist, which descended upon Xellos like an avalanche-

-And was stopped cleanly by the tip of his extended staff. The Golem suddenly jerked to a halt, as if it had struck an oricalcum wall.

Eyes closed and expression merry, Xellos said, "I had not expected the progidal princess to come to her city's aid, though perhaps I should have. An impressive golem." Violet eyes opened, bright with malice. "But it will not save you." A muttered word, and the spell that animated the golem disolved; another blasted the sorceress out of the air, tumbling uncontrolled towards the ground below.

* * *

Naga screamed. Her head felt like it would split from the stresses of having her golem spell disrupted right out from under her, as well as the impact that was sending her down. Below her, she saw the gaping, toothy maw of a hungry Mazoku preparing to catch her-

-and a white blur snatched her out of midair, two small arms clutching her tight. "Onee-chan! Onee-chan!"

She blinked, looked down at the dark-haired girl who'd grabbed her. "Amelia?"

Her little sister looked up, smiling. "I missed you, Gracia."

Feeling happy tears well up, she replied, "I missed you too."

* * *

The creatures left a vile stain upon the Force – so unpleasant, that Luke would cheerfully take the sheer, disorienting absence that surrounded the ysalamir instead. It would hurt his head less. Though it probably wouldn't help much with his flying.

At Wedge's request, he'd taken up his old callsign of Rogue Five, and command of Two Flight with it. He knew a few of them in a vague sort of way, but it had been a while since he'd been with the Rogues. The only ones he knew well were Wedge himself, Wes, and Corran. He'd met a few of the others, but only briefly. Add to that, he hadn't been a commander in a starfighter brawl in a while. The skills where there, but they were rusty. And what these voidspawn things were doing to his head did _not_ help. So Two Flight, while definitely pulling its weight, was doing markedly poor compared to the rest of Rogue Squadron.

He snap-rolled around a lightning bolt, put a quartet of crimson blasts into its firer. He tried, once more, to reach out with the Force to find a weakness, a vector, the best place of attack, and once more, his head began to pound at the roars and growls of their minds. He gritted his teeth. _I am a Jedi. I will not be beaten like this._

_

* * *

_

Xellos looked upon the human defenders with a smile. His army was trading fire with several defenders on the wall, advancing with the biggest and toughest Mazoku at the lead. They were shrugging off arrows and whatever else the defenders were shooting. Some of the magic being thrown around felt _distinctly_ unusual – not, of course, that _anything_ could be from out-of-this-world. He'd have to leave one of those strange mages alive, just to shove in Zelas' face. That, at least, he could do despite his restrictions.

On the wall, he could see the Royals clustered around their lost daughter. He'd tried to intercept Amelia when she charged, a Ray Wing spell lending her enviable speed, but she'd exuded an entirely toxic aura of almost pure love at the time. It had been enough to make him flinch. _I suppose I can't begrudge them a few minutes of clemency. _He thought. _It's not like they'll be surviving the day._

Putting actions to thoughts, he fixed his gaze on Seyruun's main gates. _Why not make things easier on my army?_ A gesture, and the gates blew inward, torn off their hinges. The horde below him howled in its bloodlust, and charged.

* * *

The _Enterprise_ shuddered as it took another crack from one of the big squids, and B'Elanna swore quietly at her station in Engineering. The shields were holding, for the moment anyway, but they were starting to buckle under the repeated strikes of Voidspawn lightning. _We could be using our speed and range to hang back, but nooooo... we have to stay in tight at watch the rift, because we've actually got probes that more or less work in there. _She'd told Picard what she thought of this plan in as many words. He'd seemed almost amused.

It probably helped that she'd conceded that she understood why they had to stick close in. After spending most of four days putting _Galactica_ back together, despite the help of those racist pricks, she didn't much want to see it get blown to hell right away. Mounting and tuning shield generators would have taken far more time than they had, and more power to run than the ship's reactor could produce. They'd managed to tie some better sensors into the ship, at least, and fixed most of the more glaring issues with its power systems. More would have required a full drydock, and probably a month of work.

_Enterprise_'s shields were weakening beneath the constant salvos. Teeth gritted, she worked her console, trying to stabilize them. The _Sovereign_ class starship was built tough, and could take a hellacious pounding, but this was going to start straining it before long. The ship shuddered again, and she felt more than heard something let go with a heavy _thump_. She was about to shout for a damage control team when LaForge called for one. Fought down a smile. _I need to remember, this isn't actually my engine room. Now I know how Joe Carey felt about me intruding._

_

* * *

_

"I hate fighting guys who can do stuff like that," muttered Jack O'neill as bits of Seyruun's main gate finished bouncing down the main boulevard.

"Down from the wall?" asked Jonesy of SG-2.

"Oh yeah," said O'Neill. "Don't want to stay in _that_ guy's line of sight."

"Indeed," uttered T'ealc in his usual deadpan, as he casually gathered up some of their heavier kit. Hearing that they'd be fighting 'demons and monsters,' the two SG teams had loaded heavy, a mix of their usual Earth-derived gear and some galactic tidbits. It seemed like it had been a wise choice – the bigger suckers they'd been shooting at were shrugging off P-90 fire, and even the heavier rounds of the tripod-mounted M-60 SG-2 had stashed along, but Staff and Zat blasts seemed to work a little better. The littler ones, at least, responded well to bullets.

The architecture here had some distinctly middle-eastern flavours to it, adding to the general late-midevil look. Part of that was tightly-spaced buildings and curving streets. As long as they didn't get hit too hard, they'd be able to ambush, fall back, and repeat ad nauseum.

The two teams headed for the nearest stairway, T'ealc hefting the M-60 as if it weighed nothing more than his staff weapon. Jonesy was already pulling Claymores and detcord out of his pack, getting ready to set up.

They picked a spot just past a corner, where the street narrowed slightly and set up, tracking the invading monsters by noise. By now, even Daniel was an experienced architect of mayhem, even if he lacked some of the other's enthusiasm for it.

* * *

_How we playin' this?_ Asked Ranma mentally to the other mages in the loop. Nanoha and Fate had taught the telepathy trick to Lina, Zel, and Amelia, as well as a couple of the priests, but not many beyond that. Not that it really mattered. Nobody else was in their weight class, though from her party trick, he figured Gracia/Naga/whatever her name was, was close.

Lina's reply was quick. _Xellos needs to be stopped. He's the most powerful Mazoku I can think of, and definitely the strongest one here._

_ Nanoha and I will help you,_ replied Fate, sounding confident. Even right after watching him blow down warded and re-enforced gates from half a mile away.

_Right,_ added the White Devil. _The rest of you should help the army fight the Mazoku army. _The 'you'll just be in the way against the big one' went unstated, but they could all hear it. And though it hurt, Ranma couldn't much argue it. Xellos had a terrifying amount of power; and more than that, he had _control_.

_Understood, Enforcer,_ replied Aston. _We'll make ourselves useful down here. _A pause, and then Aston continued in some undefinable way that told Ranma that it was just for him to hear, and not the others, _We've got room for one more with the squad, if you want company for this fracus._

Ranma smiled, rolled his shoulders. It was good to be in his silks again, after days in uniform. Technically, he should be in his fatigues for this, but they just didn't have the range-of-motion he needed to fight to his fullest. _If you guys'll have me, I'd be happy ta join ya._

_

* * *

_

"We beat the Shadows," muttered Susan Ivonova under her breath, "We will not be beaten by overgrown seafood."

The voidspawn hit harder than Shadow Battlecrabs – and wasn't _that_ a pleasant thought – but the _Warlock _class destroyer she commanded was a hell of a lot tougher than anything she'd commanded in the Shadow War. At least, it _felt_ tougher than the _White Star_s, hard alloy giving it a solidity the little Minbari ships had lacked. And it most certainly brought firepower to spare. The midsized, hundred-meter Voidspawn especially responded _hilariously_ well to heavy pulse cannon fire.

The big suckers, on the other hand... they could grind the bastards down, but it took a while. And a fair number of the other ships in thisbattleoutgunned them by a noticable margin, even though the _Warlock_ class destroyer was significantly larger than a goodly chunk of them. It seemed unfair – humanity had clawed and scraped its way out of the bottom of the tech barrel and now she saw they didn't compare that well to so many others... but damned if they weren't going to do their best.

_Titans _shuddered as another of the seven-hundred meter bastards lashed out with its lightning arcs, and Ivonova gritted her teeth as she held the bridge guardrail. "Gunners, get that thing off of us, now!" The deck shuddered almost imperceptibly as her missile launchers began to salvo, the particle beam cannons firing moments later. The Voidspawn seemed almost contemptuous of their fire, turning its baleful gaze upon the bridge as it closed. Susan Ivonova met that gaze, will and a knowledge that she could win in a stand against the Darkness holding her steady.

It's roar redoubled, _reaching_ at her mind like a goddam PsyCop and clawing at her will. She steeled herself, weathered it. Others did less well; and the big ship's guns began to falter. The mass of tentacles reared back, lightning arcing around them -

And the blasts splashed against some kind of energy shield as a red, crablike thing swept into sight to her port bow. "Oy vey?"

Whatever the shield did, it blunted the monster's roars, and the bridge crew recovered. At the scanner station, the rating said, "Captain, I'm not sure where that red ship came from, but it's throwing up one of those force walls the other ships seem to use."

From her station, the signals officer announced, "Sir, transmission from the crab ship."

"Put it up."

On the screen was the image of a man – more a boy, really, late in his teens and with a bandana trying futilely to tame unruly hair. "_We'll hold the shield until it runs out of lightning, then-_" He was interrupted – quite directly, as a top-heavy blonde swung into frame, knocking the youth aside with an elbow. "_Get your guns ready; my mighty and beautiful Red Claw will be your shield!"_

Ivonova tried not to laugh. "My pleasure. Give me the word on when to fire."

The view jerked, as if the camera was being manhandled, bringing the boy back in view. "_Damn it, Jura- okay, the squid's running out of steam. Shield's dropping in five."_

"Duly noted. And thanks again." She looked up. "Guns!"

"Ready, Captain." There was an evil glint in the young Luna-born gunnery officer's eyes as she keyed in a fire plan. For a long moment they watched the last of the Voidspawn's lightning volley splash against their benefactor's shield; then it dropped away, and the damned thing ate a full broadside, flesh tearing and blood fountaining. It's cries cut off as it died under their full fury.

A victory whoop filled the bridge for a moment, then chopped off into professionalism as they sought their next victim. Under her breath, the gunner whispered, "Ye, tho I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I shall fear no evil, for I am the meanest mother in the valley." Ivonova grinned savagely, agreeing.

* * *

Prince Philionel had moved back from the outer wall, but not too far. He was on one of the city's raised boulevards, surrounded by a knot of turbaned Royal Guard and his two daughters. And with three Royals around, the Guard were praying to Ceifeed or any other friendly Shinzoku who might be listening to get their headstrong Prince to listen to reason and withdraw to somewhere secure, lest some lucky Mazoku shred the competent branch of the Royal family.

It seemed like They weren't listening to the guard's pleas any more than their charges were. At least the princesses – and how bizarre was it that Gracia finally returned to them? - were contributing to their defenses. The younger sister held a powerful spell in hand, one word of power short of flaying some impertinent monster; the elder had called up a pair of lesser golems; shimmering white giants formed from the marble of the Wall itself. Shinzoku willing, they might hold some of the White Magic blessings that imbued the city still.

Give him credit for nerve, Prince Phil's stoic expression was not dashed when a trio of small, shrieking Mazoku vaulted from the ground onto the wall ahead of them. Give him credit for some _sense_ as well – when his Royal Guard surged around him, weapons at the ready, he didn't try to force his way past them. As the foul monsters charged, so too did Gracia's golems, white fists rendering one of the creatures an amber smear on the marble. A second was impaled upon spearpoints, and brought down by Royal Guard hacking wildly with enchanted swords.

The third eluded both, landing with four clawed limbs upon the head and shoulders of one of the guards, decapitating him in passing as it launched into the air once more, wicked claws and razorlike teeth seeking his throat-

_**"Friend To All Creatures KICK!"**_

-only to meet a sabaton-clad boot in midair. The blow did not, strictly speaking, harm the mazoku, but the force behind it knocked the creature from its deadly path, and it skidded along the pavement, claws leaving sparks. Single minded, the creature scrambled to its feet, and gathered itself for another deadly leap-

_**"Rah Tilt!"**_

-to be cut down by Amelia's loosed spell, blue flames consuming like a spider in a candle.

* * *

Voidspawn continued to pour from the rift en masse; and the formation of defenders began to loosen as the ships moved to engage. Fighters swirled near the rift, pursuing the smallest of the creatures and ignoring their brethren, leaving the bigger game for the capital ships. They were tough bastards, and they were not fucking around – raw numbers and a terrible oppressing presencethat reminded Raynor of the Zerg.

Not a happy thought, that, since it inevitably lead to thoughts of Kerrigan. He'd loved her, and lost her, and then she'd returned to betray them all. Queen bitch of the universe indeed.

_Hyperion_ shuddered at the touch of one of the midsized Voidspawn's lightning bolts. They weren't built for this kind of pounding; he'd have to end this fight _fast._ "Guns! Give that bastard a Yamato blast!"

There was a crackle of building energy as the big cannon charged, and then the crimson bolt lept from their bow, tearing into the creature. A few more volleys from their guns finished it off.

"Keep us at the edge of this brawl, boys. Guns, keep picking on the little ones."

Not for the first time, he wished he'd managed to con Fenix out of some Protos shields for his ship. This was big and serious, and he hated the fact that he'd have to withdraw for repairs. He always hated doing that; it felt like cowardice even though he damn well knew better.

This was going to be a fight of attrition. And nobody knew how many living ships the other side had.

_Way_ too much like fighting the Zerg.

* * *

Huss, Daughter of A'trom, laughed as she disemboweled a Mazoku with her _Bat'leth. _That spilling its guts onto the cobbles didn't seem to kill the creature didn't curb her enjoyment in the slightest; it just meant she could carve on it some more. These creatures were _interesting_, tougher and harder to kill than Jem'hadar, as well as far more creative. Some of them used fang and claw, others threw blasts of energy, and some wielded wicked-looking swords. Though they were no match for a warrior of the Order of the _Bat'leth_.

Her troop had picked what looked like a small market square to set up their lines. Half a dozen of the city's small, tight ground-level streets met there, and it was close to the breached gate. These Mazoku were flocking here in numbers as they fought their way into the city, and they were dying in numbers, too.

The troop's two heavy repeating disruptors were set up to cover three of those streets in, and one of the uncovered streets was behind the line the invaders had reached. The Klingons were personally seeing to anything that came down the other two streets, with help from a growing number of Seyruunian soldiers who'd found them while falling back. To their credit, many of the humans seemed quite skilled. And though they seemed to find the Klingon's appearance strange and perhaps a little monstrous, they still took courage and rallied when they approached this position.

Perhaps it was simply seeing, very directly, that _they were not alone_ in their fight that gave them strength and courage. A universal translator helped; a few of the Seyruunian soldiers were rough, bloody-minded sorts, and were swapping jibes and jokes with her people. Including one of the priests, who was being looked on by his fellows _quite_ disapprovingly.

She didn't quite know what that dour quartet was doing, but it seemed to be helping. There was a definite, noticeable line being painted by the disruptor fire. On the far side of it, Mazoku were shrugging off everything that hit them. On this side of it, suddenly they could be harmed by blast or blade. As long as they could keep it up, the mixed soldiers would be able to hold this place.

* * *

Wedge Antillies kicked his X-wing into a corkcrew a touch too violent for his inertial compensator to keep him from feeling, felt the painfully familiar sensation of his stomach flip-flopping. Long experience kept lunch where he'd put it, but with more difficulty than normal. There was something _wrong _with these damned things, something that twisted his head around. Comments from both Corran and Tyria suggested that it was even worse for Force-Sensitives. So far, comm chatter suggested that they, and Luke, were keeping it together, but he'd told all three, each separately and privately, that if they had to get clear, to do so.

Then Admiral Haralowan, the more or less agreed upon fleet commander, had made it an order to everyone to do just that. It was, he said, why they had reserves.

Though _that_ hadn't lasted – the ships being held in reserve had chipped in almost from the moment the fight started, even if most of them were keeping back and sniping away from range.

And thank the Force that their enemies were so... distinctly different. "Shoot at anything that's not a ship" was remarkably easy to keep straight. And after his time with the Wraiths, it wasn't even that hard to remember that the TIEs in this brawl were on their side. During one of their brief skull sessions on _Concordia_ he'd gotten a closer look at the things and seen the new insignia added to them. He'd also, and he smirked at this memory, been pidgeonholed by a pack of techs to explain some of the quirks of Imperial fuel systems. He hadn't minded. It was nice to occasionally use some of his non-killing knowledge of starfighters.

Still. He pitied the poor bastards they were throwing into TIE cockpits for this fight. Attrition was always high with the things.

Gate blatted a warning as his X-Wing's shields took a glancing crack of lighting, and he shook his head, trying to clear it. _Sithspawn! Keep your head in the fight, Antillies!_ A snap roll, and the squid's reaching tentacles sent lightning flashing along what his course would have been, missing him cleanly. The creature was a hunter, spinning in closer, trying to get him again, mental shriek prying at his mind. A sustained burst of quad laser fire put it out of his misery, and Wedge smiled.

A glance around. A formation of Cosmo Tigers launched missiles into what could only be described as a school of Voidspawn. As the little squids turned to chase them, a pair of F-302s flashed by, spearing several with missiles of their own. A squadron of B-Wings off of _Mon Karen_ making a run on one of the hundred-meter squids, while _Starfuries_ covered them. A big, elegant, brilliant white fighter he was certain he hadn't seen in the briefings roaring through a large pack of creatures, immolating several with a trail of fire. Just behind it, a squadron of _Vanguards _lashed the survivors with blaster fire.

* * *

_Okay, we're going to need to get the timing on this perfect,_ thought Nanoha to the others.

_I'll get charged up,_ thought Lina eagerly, and she began to gather power.

Fate neither said nor sent anything, but she flashed towards Xellos, Bardiche in Zanber form. The mighty golden blade flashed, crashed against the false priest's staff, and he laughed as she flew onward. Nanoha unleashed another volley of purple bolts that crashed home against his shield with no effect.

"Really, girls, I give you full points for persistence, but you must realize by now, you are hopelessly outmatched against me."

Lina barely heard Nanoha's reply as she began to cast her spell. "_**Lord of the Dreams that Terrify..."**_

"Perhaps we do not agree," said Nanoha. _"Divine~_

_ **"Sword of Cold and Darkness, Free yourself from Heaven's Bonds..."**_

_"BUSTER!" _The blazing purple beam lanced through the sky, barely missing the dodging Mazoku.

_**"Become one with my power..."**_

Xellos sent a retaliatory blast at Nanoha, who caught it, barely, with a Protection spell. "Really, Lina Inverse, do you truly expect to catch me with _that _spell? It's so slow, and limited!"

_**"One with my body..."**_

Bardiche shifted back into its normal poleaxe form, Fate slewed across the sky, raining fire. _"Photon Lancer- Phalanx Shift!"_

_**"And let us walk the path of destruction together..."**_

"Pointless, little girl. You know this won't do anything." Xellos stood in midair, just before Lina as she incanted her spell, looking nonchalant. Nanoha and Fate gathered power, preparing for their next strikes. "You know I can dodge this with ease."

_ "**Power that can smash even the souls of the Gods..."**_

The Mazoku General was about to shift away when three things happened in rapid succession.

_"Lightning Bind!" _magical golden chains suddenly wrapped themselves around Xellos's ankles and wrists.

"_Restrict Lock!" _Purple ones did the same, enwraping his limbs and torso.

For a creature with the raw mystic might possessed by Xellos, snapping clear of binding spells, even those applied with the skill and power employed by casters like Nanoha Takamachi and Fate Testarossa-Haralown, would be little more than child's play. The work of seconds.

Unfortunately for Xellos...

_**"RAGNA BLADE!"**_

...He did not have seconds. Even so, he managed to pull himself away from the direct path of Lina's attack, as the black lightning cleaved towards his skull. He managed just enough, before it made contact, that it merely took off his right arm at the shoulder. Power gushed from the wound for a moment, extracting a cry of pain, then he vanished into the Astral Plane.

The three mages felt a surge of elation – that blow had hurt him, perhaps a great deal. Quickly they looked around, trying to spot him when, or if, he returned.

They did indeed spot him as he phased back from the Astral Plane, but they could do nothing. Eyes burning with violet fire, roaring in pain and rage, Xellos unleashed a wave of dark magic upon the three. The instincts born of years of experience allowed them to throw up shields, but all three collapsed beneath the unleashed might of the Mazoku general.

For a moment, Xellos simply surveyed the three defeated mages, his cloak slung around to cover the stump that had been his arm. Then he lifted into the sky, and raced towards the main battle, fury pouring from him like elemental fire.

* * *

Captain Juzo Okita smiled grimly as he watched the _Yamato_'s guns extract their heavy toll on the Voidspawn.

The big battleship was circling the edge of the battle, taking advantage of her range to compensate for her lack of the amazing energy shields that so very many other ships involved in this action had. Oh, _Yamato_ was a tough old ship, but they still had a goodly distance to travel. It would not do to let themselves be crippled, no more than it would do to save earth, only to watch the universe fall for lack of their aid. And even at this remove from the thick of the fighting, they'd attracted the attention of many of the creatures. A glance at the status board showed that the damage to the hanger was in the process of being repaired already.

Not too far to their stern, he could see the great ship _Arcadia_, a midsized Voidspawn impaled upon her ramming prow. Her own guns were thundering, sending red bolts streaking into the foe where they gathered. He had to fight down a smirk, looking over _Arcadia _once more. His response to a Voidspawn slipping too close for _Yamato_'s Shock Cannons to engage effectively was to fire up the Pulse Lasers. Harlock's response to Voidspawn closing on _Arcadia_ had been _Ramming Speed! _An audacious man. And one who was a grand master at fighting his ship.

He would have to find a way to at least try to recruit Harlock. The Gamilons wouldn't have the first clue how to deal with him.

_Yamato_ shuddered beneath him. _Of course, that can only happen if we win._ And they had to win here. Because if these creatures could not be stopped by a prepared force firing into them as they passed closest thing you could get to a choke point in space in dribs and drabs... no-one would be able to stop them fighting _en masse._

_

* * *

_

Ranma didn't much like throwing fire around inside somebody's neighborhood, but it seemed to be working on these Mazoku better than pure ki blasts did. They were easier to generate, too, which was a plus since he had no idea how long this fighting would last.

But even though this city was heavy on stonework for its buildings, there was still wood, the occasional thatch roof, and any number of things that could burn if he got careless. Or if the Mazoku decided to start _playing_ with their food; some of them could throw fire, too. And weirdly enough, it seemed like he could draw on some of the fires the various fighters were starting, and add them to his own.

Not for the first time, he wished he'd managed to get in a good, solid, _solo_ training trip in the last year or so; find somewhere remote, and just dump a month into figuring out as much of Firebending as he possibly could. Or calling in a favour with the Bureau for a trip back to Lee and Mushi's world, to study with a master.

But even making it up as he went; even fighting things that had way more in common with the Youma he'd fought alongside the Senshi than the Oni he'd first figured Mazoku for; he was holding his own. It was in some ways the greatest fight he'd been in since defeating Happosai, even if it's scope was closer to the Battle of Tokyo.

Oh, sure, these were 'lesser' Mazoku, but they were impressive opponents. The help from Aston's squad, and a few other TSAB Marines, was invaluable; their magics were more effective than his blows. The help from Cagiva's Bradies was... less welcome, but they were still proving useful.

They'd set up shop at a crossroads perhaps two blocks from the breached gate. The Mazoku had stormed at them with wild abandon for a few minutes, then tried to break off down another street – apparently running into a pack of local mages as well as several squads of TSAB marines. After getting suitably mauled there, they'd tried a third route, only to hit a pocket of resistance anchored by some guys called Klingons.

The defenders were giving ground in some spots – he could see fighting atop the outer wall, pushing towards one of the raised boulevards – but the biggest and most dangerous breach was holding.

Ranma spun inside one Mazoku's reach, grabbed an outflung limb, and body-flipped it into two of its buddies; Dia, Kia, and Aston then let rip with their spells, shredding them. If the big guy Nanoha, Fate, and Lina went after was as important as they seemed to think, this fight would be effectively over once he went-

-A span of the outer wall, almost a hundred feet on either side of the gate, erupted into stone splinters and fire. The blast's concussion half-crushed almost ever structure within a block of the wall, smashed windows throughout the near half of the city. Stone, mages, and soldiers rained down as the blast began to settle, dust choking the area.

Then a blast of wind blew the dust away, revealing a sinister figure floating in midair. Eyes ablaze with violet fire, he stood, one arm clutching his staff and the other sheathed beneath his cloak.

He spoke, and his voice chilled all who heard it. "I am Xellos, High Priest and General of Greater Beast Zelas Metallium. I am the mightiest of all Mazoku generals. I have slain dragons by the hundreds, and humans in numbers beyond count. And today, I am done playing with you pathetic apes. This city will fall to my might, and the world shall fall soon after. Your mightiest have already fallen before me. All you can do now... is die."

* * *

_Galactica_'s CIC was a flurry of activity, despite the fact that they weren't currently engaged. Before they'd left, an hour before the battle, LaForge's last team of engineers left behind a generous load of assorted spare parts. Tyrol's people were making last minute repairs and maintenance, getting ready for the coming action. Baltar and Gaeta were _mostly_ certain they'd be able to jump into, and out of, the rift, but in the event that they had to fight their way out, well, they'd need every advantage they could lay hands on.

Admiral Adama stared into the DRADIS display, watching the brownian motion of the battle. The fleet's formations were loosening, leaving little gaps in their coverage here and there. It seemed that the general discomfort and head-twisting that the Voidspawn did wasn't just limited to the little guys. He had a tech following the fleet chatter. The things were shredding the resolve and morale of crews simply by existing.

He focused on one ship in particular. "Any word from _Enterprise?_"Picard's ship was staying close to the rift, periodically launching probes into it, looking for an opening that _Galactica_ could use to jump in and take out the target.

"Nothing yet, sir," said Duella. "Should I request an update?"

_It might come off as ingratitude. Or rudeness. Picard's busy, but I doubt he's forgotten us._ "No. But start spinning up the jump drive. We should be getting the word soon."

The Admiral frowned at the DRADIS display. _Speaking of the little guys..._

The young officer at the gunnery station noticed, too. "Admiral, it looks like some of the Voidspawn are wandering into range. Shall I engage them?"

"Is anyone else moving to intercept?" He could see for himself that a few ships were already on that – that Cinnabar corvette, and somebody's fighters.

"Ah, yessir."

"Then save your ammo, Guns. We're probably going to need it."

Dee interjected; "Sir, signal from _Enterprise. _The Voidspawn are all in the vicinity of the rift's mouth; we're clear to jump as deep as we can."

"Do it."

The familiar surge and momentary discomfort of a jump – long since keyed in – and they were off the field of battle. The DRADIS cleared, then began to show new contacts, none of them close. From his station, Gaeta announced, "Jump successful. We appear to be at the programmed co-ordinates."

"Good." Faintly, he could hear the _thump-whoosh_ of the ship's Vipers launching, even as the flight pods deployed. On the small visual display that Starfleet had added, he saw them streak into space, launching into golden light tainted by a faint mist of black and purple. A mist that would get thicker the closer they got to their target, if Baltar was right. "Helmsman, set course for our target, best possible speed."

* * *

If Staff Sergeant Aston was at all intimidated by the Mazoku's boast, it didn't show. Witchfires licking along his sword, he gestured towards the floating figure of Xellos. "Right lads! One armed man! Five rounds rapid!"

The TSAB marines turned towards the Mazoku, and a wave of rapid-fired blasts lashed out. The gem on Xellos' staff glowed for a moment, and the wave broke against a violet wall.

Before the light show could fade, the Bradeson troopers formed up, plasma carbines belching rapid fire that washed against the creature's shield. Some of the other mages sent their own fire up into the crescendo, and Ranma loosed a ki blast. None of it touched the monster. Whatever sort of shield spell Xellos was using, it was potent.

Ranma swallowed hard. _This ain't good._ For Xellos to be doing this, he must have dropped Nanoha and company. He didn't like that thought at _all_. Those three were their powerhouses. Taking this guy down without them would be... tricky.

But it'd have to be done. Xel was floating over the city proper, inside the walls, and it looked like he was frying targets more or less at random, and at will. Ranma took a deep breath. _I ain't a match fer Nanoha in t' raw power department, but I'm probably onea the strongest guys left here. An' definitely t' most skilled. Time to dance._

Sparing a moment's thought for Prince Phil, and hoping the monarch was safely back in the high city, he lept skyward, ki flaring around him.

* * *

Maniac had always been a little dubious about the 'benefits' of a wingman.

You only needed somebody covering your back if you weren't good enough to watch it yourself, after all. And it wasn't like there were many pilots in the Confederation who could keep up with him. The few with the skill were dull sticks-in-the-mud who let tradition hamper them. So while he was supposed to be flying with somebody right now, his _Morningstar_ making up for the deficiencies of Flight Officer Dane's TIE Fighter, he was flying solo. If Dane _wanted_ to fly one of those suicide sleds, far be it from him to protect her.

Of course, if he were totally honest, he'd admit that he wouldn't mind someone's help at the moment. Because the Voidspawn on his tail right now was damnably agile and stubborn. His fighter danced and juked as he tried to throw the thing off, while simultaneously frying one of its buddies. He wasn't getting that many hits, since his attention was split, but he'd get a missile lock eventually.

He spared a thought for Angel and her decision that they'd be limited to dumbfires and Image Recognition missiles; and not Friend or Foes or Heatseakers. Though he'd grant the heat seakers would be of limited utility, FoFs would be perfect for a twisting fight like this. But nooo... not with so many different allies around. Lunacy.

Finally, the thing gave him a perfect deflection shot, and he sent a dumbfire up it's tucus, turning the unnerving thing into a satisfying shower of gore. Smiling dangerously, Maniac hit the Afterburners, snap-rolled the fighter around, and made a head-to-head run on the fucker pursuing him. It's squiddy expression seemed distinctly supprised, just before he blew it in half with his guns.

Unfortunately for him, it managed a lightning bolt before dying, and his fighter took _that_ on the proverbial chin. Alarms began to scream as he felt his controls go distinctly mushy. But that was okay, even with a damaged plane, he could make it back to _Concordia_ for repairs. He was good enough to cross this battlefield.

Then he heard another one of those awful mental screams directed at him. And the after half of his fighter blew apart under the touch of another lightning bolt. Tumbling in space, he saw the thing as it streaked in, beak opening wider than, at first glance, he'd figured _possible_, looking for all the galaxy like he was a snack-

-then melting as bolts of plasma washed across it.

Maniac's relief was palatable. Looking, he saw a ship with honest-to-god sails rigged on it moving towards him, correcting as if he was changing his course, which was redic- wait, not ridiculous. He _was_ slowing down. _Inertial dampeners must still be working. Guess the reserve power's still going._ Which was a mixed blessing. The dampeners would keep him from actively flying into something, but they'd drain the reserves quickly. And, he noted with some irritation, it looked like his damned radio was out. Well, these guys might be going for a pickup anyway. He hit the manual release on his cockpit canopy and stood.

There were people in the ships' rigging, and he exchanged waves with one of them as they closed on him. Whoever was at that thing's helm had a delicate touch that his inner pilot would definitely respect. When he got closer, one of the guys on the rig threw him a length of steel cable, and he found something to jam the hook into, then waved back again. They pulled him in against the slight resistance of the dampeners. With a relatively light thump, he hit the hull, and pulled himself from the cockpit. One of the riggers leaned in, touching faceplates, and said, "Welcome to the _Princess Cecile_, lad. Looks like you had a bit of a time out there."

"Had worse. And I appreciate the pickup. There an airlock I can use to get in?"

He was waved in the right direction, and went.

* * *

Xellos seethed. He'd been careless, and made to pay for it. And he dearly hated being made to pay for his mistakes.

Lina Inverse was one of the few humans capable of harming him, theoretically even capable of killing him, and he'd forgotten that. She and her companions had played him expertly, and he'd very nearly paid everything for it. He'd been treating it like a game, planning to leave the blonde and brunette outsiders alive to shove in Zelas' face with a snide comment about 'nothing beyond this world' after the battle was won.

To their credit, the human mages were extremely capable. And the two women he hadn't recognized had employed powerful artifacts and impressive skill. _Too arrogant for my own good_, he thought glumly. And then blasted some buildings below. Inside the perimeter of the White Magic Ward, already hurting from the cleaving touch of the Ragna Blade, he was not at his fullest power, but it would be enough. Because if nothing else, the simple fact that he was still alive after suffering that blow told him that none of the Shinzoku's champions were in town. The elder sister Inverse would not have let him strike down her sister that way.

Aha! And now, here came a challenger! A young male in red and black; a touch of magic about him but mostly just life energy. Xellos turned towards the youth. "Do you mean to kill me, boy?"

"Somethin' like that," he said, and loosed a blast of fire. "My name is Ranma Saotome, an I'm a frienda' the ladies you just took out."

Xellos dodged the blast easily. "So sorry for damaging your harem."

Ranma snorted, and suddenly streaked in, much faster than a human should be capable of, and landed a series of blows that would have crippled the human he appeared to be. "Respect 'em too much fer somethin' like that, pal."

"Not bad. You're quick for a human." Xellos smiled, eyes alight with mirth and malice. "But that won't stop me." He loosed a blast of his own, and the dark-haired youth dodged it. _Very impressive._

"Waste all th' energy ya want, old man. I cn' keep this up all day. _Moko Takibasha_!" A beam of blue energy streaked in, washed against his shields.

"Such confidence! Using your own life energy as a weapon." Xellos laughed. "I might have to keep you alive, you know, to show my patron." The boy paused in midair, as if considering him, one hand moving in a circular motion, a small green gemstone held in it. "Of course, without magic, you have no chance at all of actually hurting me. You _do_ know that, don't you? That you have no magic?"

"Ya know," said Ranma as he hovered just out of easy lunging range, still moving his hand in a spiral. "I've hadda bunch of magic experts tell me that. Funny thing. It's wrong." Suddenly, the fist clutching the green gem shot forward. _**"**__**Maryū Shōten Ha!"**_ A bolt of blue-green energy shot from his fist, flashing towards him in a tight spiral, glowing more intensely as it flew. It was, beyond a doubt a magic blast. _How in the world?_ Was all he had time to think before it struck him, detonated.

By instinct he slipped into the Astral for a moment. That hadn't hurt, per se, but it was most definitely a surprise. The youth shouldn't have been _able_ to call upon magic, his energy was all wrong for it... Bah. Such mysteries could be revealed in the study of the dead. He shifted back into the sidereal universe, hand moving like lightning to clamp around the boy's throat. "That," he said to the surprised boy, "Was impressive. And I'm sorry, but I think I'm just going to kill you now." He lifted the youth higher, then hurled him at the city streets below, a thought disrupting any spells that might be helping him fly. From this height, that should be sufficient.

* * *

"Admiral Haralowan, we've got a partial message from _Galactica_. It seems that they're under attack by a small group of Voidspawn in the rift. From what did get through, they think they can handle it."

Chrono nodded. "Transmit back with 'best of luck.'" Damnation. They'd hoped to hold the thing's attention at the rift, and that _Galactica_ could slip unseen to take out its target. Like so much else today, it seemed that wouldn't go to plan.

* * *

When a red-and-black blur literally went screaming over his head, a downthrust like that of a Harrier beneath it, Jack O'Neill couldn't help but duck. Glancing back, he saw said blur crash through a rain barrel, then bounce off the cobbles and roll into the side of a building, a small green object bouncing from its hand and off the wall.

The figure – a redheaded girl – stirred. "Kuso," she muttered.

He blinked. _If that's not Ranma Saotome I'll eat my hat._ He glanced over the barricade – nothing in sight right this moment, then quickly moved to the martial artist's position, offered a hand up. The clearly woozy fighter took it, stood unsteadily. "Arigato." Glancing around, she spotted the runaway gem, which had rolled to a stop between cobbles about five feet away. Snatching it up, she said, "Sorry fer droppin' in like that. Xellos hits hard."

Simons goggled from his position, just behind the M-60. "You were fighting _Xellos_?"

"Somebody hadda do it," she said with a shrug. "Pretty sure he could melt this city t' moment he decides he's bored of waiting for his army ta do it. Gotta keep him distracted." She was looking up, now seeing another mage – Jack's vague memories of Slayers said Zelgaddis – picking a fight with the false priest and getting slapped around.

"He's way out of your weight class," said Simons. "How?"

Ranma shrugged. "Hey, I'm good at punchin' above my weight. I'll thinka somethin." A cocky grin. "I know how fast he is now. I can beat him, at least for long enough."

The martial artist launched skyward, surrounded by a battle aura. It'd been a while, but Jack couldn't remember the kid being able to fly. Interesting. "Simons, you think he can do it?"

Watching the redhead's flight, the lieutenant smiled. "Ranma Saotome don't lose."

* * *

Lina Inverse ached. By sheer good fortune, she'd been behind both Nanoha and Fate when Xellos' blast hit, and their own potent shields had protected her far more than the wind barrier she'd been able to snap up. She struggled for a moment, trying to stand, but managed it. The other two mages were nearby, and she raced to their sides. Fate's pulse was strong, Nanoha's a bit fluttery, but both lived. She smiled. _Underestimated us again, Xel._

Suddenly, a mental voice intruded. _Nanoha, Fate, Lina? Please tell me you ain't dead._

Ranma. _They're out cold, but I think they'll be fine. Where's Xel?_

_ Over th' city, meltin' bits of it. I can distract him, but he shrugged off the best stuff I can do here._

She felt herself smile _If you can distract him, I can take him out. I have a spell that can do the job, but it's not quick to cast._

_ Deal, _he replied without hesitation. _I'll go distract him._

She felt steadier on her feet now. Good. Lina took quick inventory of her gear, and frowned. One of the Demon's Blood Talismans was gone, as if torn clear of her wrist by Xel's blast. She'd need it to cast something that could hurt the false priest. Glancing around, her eyes moved past, then back to, Nanoha's staff. _I've wanted that thing for two years. It's an emergency. And it's not like I won't give it back... _She picked it up.

Raising Heart's response was immediate. YOU ARE NOT MY MASTER.

"No, I'm not," muttered Lina, somehow not surprised that the thing could talk. "She's out cold, and the monster who did it might come back to finish her off. I can kill it, but I'll need your help.

For a moment, she would have sworn the red gem at the staff's crook was giving her a measuring look. YOU WILL RETURN ME ONCE THE THREAT IS DEFEATED?

"Yes."

ACCEPTABLE. I WILL AID YOU, MISS. She felt the staff's magic touch her own, merge with it, and inhaled sharply at the sudden rush of power. Yes, she could use this.

"You can maintain a spell I cast, right? So I can cast another?"

YES MISS.

"Good. _Ray Wing!"_

_

* * *

_

Ralgha _nar_ Hhallas snarled in fury as he pulled his _Sabre_ through a tight turn, guns thundering at the nearest squids. His blood sang as it hadn't in so long. Something about these _things_ broke down the barriers of civilized behavior that restrained his actions most of the time. The Confederation officer was retreating before the fury of the Kilrathi warrior.

It was hard to tell just how the fight was going. There were too many ships, too many monsters, and all were surging around in a confused mass. He himself had taken hits, his gunner was dead and one of his mass drivers destroyed. He hadn't returned to _Concordia_ because he didn't want to risk his behavior around his human friends when his blood was up like this. Didn't want to hurt them.

Blair was at his wing, covering and shielding him like the true friend he was. A Voidspawn flashed between them, and the two fighters turned as one, each wingman knowing the other's mind and tactics. His own shots were intended to herd the creature, to give Blair a good deflection angle to put it out of their misery.

He did not see the Voidspawn that blasted him from behind.

* * *

Behind him, Blair could see Hobbes' _Sabre_ explode; a sudden sharp thing that left no time for an ejection seat to fire. He snarled, finished the one before him as his tail gunner opened up on another. Then he whipped the heavy attack fighter around and bore down on the bastard who'd killed his friend.

He made it quick. The things were too dangerous to leave alive and wounded.

Checking his status board, he frowned. The fight was starting to turn against their side. There were just too many of the things, coming too quickly, and their damnable mental screams could wear at the sanity and patience of a saint.

Most of his squadron was scattered to hell and gone, some back on _Concordia_ to rearm, some EVA. He keyed the 'all squadrons' frequency that the various flight groups in this mess had agreed to. "This is Maverick to any nearby fighter. I could use a wingman."

After a moment, a response crackled. _"Maverick, this is Rogue Five. I could use a wing too. Be right there."_

The X-wing formed up on the _Sabre, _and Blair and Skywalker began to hunt.

* * *

Clutching her pendant tight, Ranma flew towards Xellos, shrouded in the Umi Sen Ken. She'd run low on ki quickly doing this, but she figured she didn't need to distract laughing boy all that long for Lina to do her thing. She pushed more ki into the pendant.

Curious, she'd asked Sailor Mercury if she knew how the thing worked over a year ago, and the answer had been interesting. The pendant, being a small magical device, gathered any energy near it and converted that into the mana it needed to run. It could only hold so much mana, and if it overcharged it would release that energy. By happy co-incidence, Ranma had discovered that he could push ki into it, and the resultant spillover mana still held a hint of that ki. And while she couldn't do much with magic alone... magic laced with ki? That, she could manipulate.

From there, a variant on the Hiru Shoten Ha hadn't been too hard. Where the primary move drew in free-floating ki, the variant drew in magic. It didn't hold together long, but it was a nice little close-range move, if one she needed to improve on some.

It wasn't efficient, but it worked, and she bet it had hurt Xellos. Pain was distracting as all hell, and ought to work.

The range closed, she let the Umi Sen Ken drop, and slammed into Xel' back, free arm wrapping around his throat while a magic-shrouded fist hammered into his kidneys with Chestnut Fist speeds. The yelp of surprise and pain made it worth it, even as energy whipped around the Mazoku and lashed at him.

* * *

_This was a very good idea,_ thought Lina as she settled on a rooftop, Raising Heart thrumming with power in her hands. _I want one of these. Sooooo baaad._

In the near distance, Ranma and Xellos dueled, both too fast for her eye to properly track. _Ranma, I'm going to need him to hold still a moment to shoot him. You do know that, yes?_

_ Gotcha. Lemme know when._

She took a breath, loaded a clip of cartridges into Raising Heart the way she'd seen Nanoha do it. Time to get started. She forced herself to be calm, gathered her thoughts. _Now, Ranma._

And she began to cast.

_ "Darkness beyond blackest pitch, _

_ Deeper than the deepest night._

_ King of Darkness, who shines like gold upon the Sea of Chaos._

_ I call upon thee, and swear myself to thee._

_ Let the fools who stand before me be destroyed by the power you and I possess._

_ **GIGA SLAVE!**"_

OH, said Raising Heart. OH, _MY_

_ What a clever little artifact,_ said a strange voice, beautiful and terrible.

* * *

Ranma'd let Xellos lay a hand on her, and the one-armed priest currently had her by a handful of shirt. She'd sort of expected the pain, as magics lashed at her. When Lina'd started her spell, the Mazoku had looked, for a moment, like he suspected something. Ranma spitting in his face got him good and distracted again.

He was ranting, now. "...Only once before have I met a human so _utterly_ maddening! And I already killed her today! You even _sound_ like that bitch! You will _not _stop me. You _cannot_ stop me. I give you points for persistence, but you will die regardless."

Over his shoulder, she could see Lina. It looked like she was just about done her windup... "Something you ain't thinkin' through, laughing boy. You don't know what we can take." Energy flared around Lina, and Ranma planted a kick to Xellos' jaw, the force tearing her shirt out of his hand. Dropping away, she saw a beam of lightning-shot blackness slam into Xel's back, and punch through, close enough that her hair stood on end.

* * *

_Hello, Xellos. I think it's well past time that I had a _chat_ with you and your patron._

_

* * *

_

The deck rumbled with the sound of her guns firing, and Commander Adama tried to project an aura of calm as he stared into the DRADIS display. Vipers and Raptors swarmed around the ship, their own guns tearing into the smaller, remora-like creatures and staying clear of Galactica's main batteries as they tore into some of the larger _things_ trying to reach them. They were doing well so far, and if their data was at all accurate, they'd be in missile range of the target in another ten minutes.

As if to punctuate his statement, and remind him that luck had seldom been with them these last months, the ship shuddered, lights flickering, as one of the bigger creatures blasted her with lightning.

"Damage report!" barked Tigh, the one-eyed man turning towards the status boards.

"Five point defense clusters in the portside batteries destroyed, one of the ammo feeds, and it looks like we have some electrical fires down there." Gaeta was bent over his station, hands flying. "Chief Tyrol reports that he has them under control. Gunners are shifting fire to the creature that did it."

Adama nodded, kept his own council. They might just make it through this. He returned his attention to the DRADIS and smiled with satisfaction as one of the creatures abruptly vanished. Let the other shipdrivers sneer at _Galactica_'s 'primitive' armaments, they were getting the job done.

Then a new contact appeared ahead and slightly to port, at the edge of range, and for a moment, the DRADIS tried to tag it as a BaseStar, then as a transport, and finally settled on 'unknown.' "Mister Gaeta," began the Commander, "What's this new contact?"

"I'm... not sure, Commander, but it's big. At least..." he broke off, swearing quietly. "It's a 700-meter Spawn, sir."

There was a long moment of silence on the bridge. The little bastards, barely a hundred feet long, could hit as hard as Cylon nukes. They knew these things scaled up... Adama and Tigh's gazes met, and the two exchanged brief nods. "Well then," said Adama. "I think it's time to see if our new missiles are as good as our allies promised."

He punched in the arming codes as the targeting computer began its computations. Beside him, Tigh muttered, "Having missiles at all is a nice treat. Here's hoping."

A flight of six antimatter-tipped missiles roared from _Galactica_'s launchers as her comms blared nuke warnings. On the DRADIS, as well as the external visuals, they tracked the missiles as they streaked for their massive target. The leviathan seemed contemptuous of them, pressing onward towards _Galactica_, massive tentacles drawing forward along its body as if poising to strike.

Then the six missiles hit its body, and the murky black-and-purple morass was erased in light as the God's Own flashbulb lit up to the tune of six hundred and twenty megatons.

The comm lines exploded. _"Felgercarb!"; "WHAT THE FRAK WAS THAT?"; "Holy-"_

"Lords of Kobol have mercy..." breathed Tigh.

After a long moment, the DRADIS cleared of interference and they could see that their target... was no longer there.

Apollo's voice crackled over the comms, sounding impressively calm. _"CAG to Galactica Actual... what was that?"_

Before Adama could answer, he heard Felix Gaeta mutter, "Truth in advertising." The older man smiled.

* * *

Lina Inverse smiled as she saw, and felt, Xellos be devoured by the Giga Slave blast. She lowered Raising Heart as it loosed a wave of steam. "That felt good," she said. Oh, she'd wanted to blast that smug bastard for _years..._

Somehow sounding croggled, Raising Heart replied, W-WELL DONE, MILADY. She felt her clothes change as a barrier jacket – styled like Nanoha's, but in her colours instead of white and blue, took form.

A shakey looking Ranma landed next to her, one arm hanging awkwardly at her side. "A little close, there, wasn't it?"

"You wanted me to blast him. So I blasted him." A shrug. "Besides, you're fine, aren't you?" She smiled. "Let's kick the rest of these Mazoku out of the city."

* * *

Captain Picard held tight to his command chair as _Enterprise _shook around him. They were taking a not inconsiderable amount of abuse from the Voidspawn; but they could not withdraw. Their probes were keeping track of _Galactica_ for the rest of the fleet.

Chancellor Martok had been kind enough to assign them a trio of _Vor'cha_ class cruisers as escorts, which was highly helpful both in combat and in morale. But while they helped fight Voidspawn and protected the Federation ship, they could not do anything for the monstrous screams that lashed at their minds. He felt a moment's regret that Counselor Troi was on leave now. Young Ezri would be hard pressed to deal with the nightmares this would spawn in his crew.

* * *

The _Galactica_'s missile launchers were it's only major weapon system that had been working at full efficiency before the battle started; if only because they'd done frak-all but preventative maintenance with the things for months. The first volley had launched clean and smooth, as if the Battlestar wasn't decades old and badly in need of the inside of a spacedock.

Then in the middle of reloading for number two, the fracking loading mechanisms jammed to a fare-thee-well. By dint of much profanity and raw grunt labor, they managed to manually load the tubes, but it had been back-torturing work. They were part way through volley number three, and between mashed hands and general strain, they were all but spent.

Suddenly, a sound of grinding gears and wheezing machinery filled the compartment, and a tall blue rectangular thing faded into existence in the middle of the main walkway.

* * *

The TARDIS' door opened smoothly, depositing The Doctor about where he'd expected to be; a gringy grimy chunk of spaceship. Several blokes in grease-stained coveralls were staring at him as if he'd just appeared out of thin air; which, to be fair, he more or less _had._ "Afternoon, gents," he said brightly. Nodding to the pair of women trying to unstick something with hammers, he added, "And ladies."

"Who the frak are you?" asked one of the men, shifting his grip on a hefty wrench.

_A valid question. Well, when in doubt, try honesty. _"I'm the tenth incarnation of a serial do-gooder, who's here to help you lot close a wibbly wobbly swirly thing in space. Sorry I took so long getting here," he gestured back at the TARDIS. The door was still open, giving anyone who cared to look a view of its interior, which was rather larger than the exterior. "The old gel gave me a bit of trouble. This is the missile deck, yes?"

A few glances bounced around the compartment as the techs tried to decide what to do with him. Finally, the one who'd spoken up first said, "Frak it. After the last two weeks, I'll buy any fraking thing. You want to help?"

"Absolutely. I've got a little something your missiles might just need." He pulled a small device from an inside pocket. "Got a missile I can add this too?"

"Right here," said one of the techs, rapping a knuckle on a missile's casing.

Producing his sonic screwdriver, The Doctor crossed the compartment and popped open a side panel with a deft twist of the device. "Good old Federation equipment. Always nice to work with..." he muttered, and added his bit of kit. "Right then, that's sorted. Anyone for a jelly baby before I go?"

* * *

Finally, _Galactica _was in missile range of the structure at the heart of the rift. The dark mists that permeated the place were thicker than ever here, but their scanners could map it. It was a sinister and unsettling thing to look upon, a ring of some dark substance, covered with spikes and protrusions at strange angles. At the ring's center was a rough sphere of roiling golden light. They'd seen, moments ago, what looked almost like a solar flare from that sphere, but it was contained once more. But the Voidspawn had backed off at that flare, and they were still keeping their distance.

Adama looked like he had a headache. So did most of the bridge crew. Saul Tigh didn't, and something about that fact... unnerved him. "I want a proper missile lock on that thing, and I want it now. Helm, alter our heading to bring the heavy guns to bear on that structure as well."

"Missiles locked, Admiral."

"Guns are laid in, sir."

"Good. Open fire."

Both port and starboard missile batteries spewed warheads that started to accelerate towards the still-distant target as the big guns began to thunder. Looking into the DRADIS display, Tigh frowned. One of the missiles was breaking its formation, accelerating ahead of its fellows. What was it-

Baltar interrupted from his 'science station.' "Admiral, the structure has put up some kind of shield. It looks like the cannon rounds are detonating against that, and not the structure itself."

Adama swore, grabbed at one of the little video screens that Starfleet had added. They didn't convey as much data as, say, the DRADIS, but sometimes a visual was damned useful.

Tigh looked over his Admiral's shoulder. A translucent black sphere had taken the place of the vile-looking ring, and he could see cannon fire hit it, exploding harmlessly. "Oh, that can't be good."

Adama growled, "Lords of Kobol willing, our souped-up new missiles will take it down. Missiles! Get a follow-up volley loaded."

"Aye, sir."

The two old friends watched their missiles close on the black sphere with baited breath. The lead missile hit the shield, and they braced for a blast of light-

-and it passed straight through, sending red ripples around the point of impact. The rest of the missiles followed. A split second's delay, and then the sphere tore open as a torrent of blazing light bloomed like a baby star. Back-lit by the explosion, they could see the ring come apart, its substance broken by Antimatter fury. A cheer rang through CIC, echoed on the Wireless by the cheers of the pilots.

Over the shouting, Baltar said, "Admiral, it appears that the mists are beginning to dissipate."

Adama was about to reply when he saw the DRADIS. The Voidspawn were charging for them now, full belt. He grabbed the wireless pickup. "All fighters, this is _Galactica_ Actual. Return to base immediately. Engine room, spin up the jump drive." He keyed off the pickup. "Gaeta, we need a jump calculation, and we need it now."

"On it, sir."

* * *

On _Claudia_'s bridge, one of the sensor operators loosed a distinctly unprofessional whoop. "Admiral Haralowan! The rift just stopped widening! In fact, it's starting to close on its own! _Galactia _did it! Those primitive bastards did it!"

Chrono felt himself grin as the cheers began to sound across the bridge, even as the other techs confirmed it.

* * *

Lee Adama pulled his Viper into a tight turn, racing for the Hanger. He'd noticed the squids moving in, had brought several of his people out to intercept, before getting the recall order. The little squids were coming up quick, as if bent on vengeance, and they wouldn't have much time. "All right people, keep it tight and watch yourselves landing. We've won. Dying in a pileup on the flight deck would be painfully ironic."

The Vipers streaked home, death stalking behind them. Lightning blasts began to pursue, and the fleeing fighters started juking, dodging the pursuing fire as best they could. The point defense guns on _Galactica _began to thunder, spraying long-ranged flak rounds past them. Still, a Viper exploded. Another.

Then someone swore on the wireless – _Kara –_ and drop-kick turned their plane, charging back at the Squids, cannons blazing. "Starbuck, get your ass back to the carrier!"

"Frak that! Somebody's got to keep these frakers off the rest of you!"

He recognized that tone. It was the tone Kara Thrace used when she'd decided it didn't matter what anyone told her, she was about to do something stupid. Nothing he could say would stop her. And frak it all, she was _right_.

The squid's formation, what there was of it, collapsed around her wildly dancing fighter as his Viper rounded the curve of _Galactica_'s hull. Lightning bolts flew in that cluster; flew at Kara, and not at the dozens more fleeing fighters. Just as he passed out of line-of-sight to her, he saw a dull red flash as something exploded in the cloud.

* * *

A flare of light, and _Galactica_ appeared in the midst of the TSAB formation. Even at a quick glance, she looked like she'd gotten hammered in there, but she was more or less intact. Voidspawn all over the fight began to break off their attacks on whatever their current targets were, and turn upon the big Battlestar. They paid for that with their lives, and quickly, but the big ship took a heavy beating in the intervening moments as capital ships, fighters, and one giant robot with shoulder cannons tore the squids still outside the rift appart.

Then the omnipresent, horrid mental screams of the Voidspawn were gone, leaving only the defenders, living and dead.


	14. Epilogue

_Disclaimer: I make no claim on the characters of others, as this is just a tribute I'm writing for personal entertainment. What a long, strange trip it's been._

Epilogue

Colonel Jeannette Devereaux was grateful that very few of her fellow pilots standing on _Concordia_'s hull were in positions where they could see her face beyond her helmet. She was not ashamed of her tears, but they did not give the professional image she wished to display. The professionalism she _needed_ to cling to, so she did not break down completely. Admiral Tolwyn had spent most of the battle staring into the rift, and he'd been flatly useless since. She was carrying most of his load.

She looked down the hull. All the pilots not at 2-minutes-readiness or in sickbay were there, in their suits, forming lines down each side of the marked-off launch strip. At the end of those lines, pilots also in suits from the other carriers involved, there as a gesture of respect. Twenty marines, laser rifles shouldered against their hardsuits.

And in the center of it all, five empty coffins.

She found her voice, finally. "We are gathered here to bid farewell to our fallen comrades. Flight Officer Janice Dane, Lieutenant Yoshiro Hibiki, Captain Dirk Wright, Captain Ivan Konavalov, and Colonel Ralgha _nar_ Hhallas. They were our friends, our companions, our wingmen. They were not the first pilots of the Confederation to die in this war or its strange ventures, nor, sadly, will they be the last. Death is a fear we must each face, every day we are aboard this ship. But we cannot forget why we are here, or what we are fighting for. Many pilots have given their lives in our cause, and we must continue the fight in their memory. Let us say a farewell to our companions, and pray for the day that space shall give up her dead." She paused for a moment, then gave an exaggerated nod to the marines.

Twenty laser rifles snapped to port arms, extended, fired. Again. And again. The gathered pilots saluted as five empty coffins fired small maneuvering jets, lifting off of the ship's hull. In perfect formation, they launched toward the gas giant over which their respective pilots had fought their last battles.

Behind the obscuring face shield of her helmet, Jeannette Devereaux cried.

* * *

_Their ways and technologies are strange, but they are all very, very human,_ thought Lee Adama as he walked through the 'magcon' field at the mouth of _Concordia_'s flight deck. They'd been lucky – lost a lot more planes than pilots. From what he'd gathered, that was true of most everyone involved.

Glancing around, he could see others removing their helmets. He swallowed and braced himself, then cracked his helmet seal. There was no deadly rush of vacuum. He removed his helmet, tucked it under one arm. A small sigh of relief; it was one thing to be told about some miracle tech, another to feel it's truth. He exchanged nods with a few of the other pilots as they walked by.

Frak but this ship was impressive. Everything he'd ever learned about ship design told him that _Galactica_ should be able to crush it, but it's tech made it vastly more dangerous. Where _Galactica_ had been all but crippled by a single, offhand volley from a Star Destroyer, _Concordia_ had gone head-to-head with _two_ of them, destroying one outright and driving the other from the field, while her fighters and bombers took out another, smaller one.

And it was telling, he thought, that for all they'd said that the Colonials were welcome and part of their Republic now, the Bradesons hadn't given them much beyond raw materials for repair. _Enterprise,_ allied with a force at war with their patrons, had been much greater help. The Bucket was surely finished, now, keel cracked and half her power systems utterly fried. They'd need something else, and what they had simply could not compete.

If he could do a little horse trading before going home, it might just stand them in good stead in the long run.

There she was now; filing in behind the Marines, along with one or two he pegged as squadron commanders. Wing Commander Devereaux looked haggard as she removed her helmet. Lee understood the feeling well. One of the squadron commanders, a sandy haired man, noticed him first, and nudged her. "Ah. Commander Adama."

"Colonel. My condolences for your losses, and my thanks for what your people did. We'd never have gotten away with that fight without you."

Devereaux managed a thin smile. "We just held the door, Commander. You were the ones doing the hard part."

"Even so." He paused. "This might not be the best time, but... we might be able to help each other with something. I've heard that you don't have point to point jump drives, that yours can only go between fixed points. Our jump drives _are_ point to point."

Devereaux's expression was thoughtful, as was the sandy-haired squadron commander. The other squadron leader glanced between them and said, "I don't think you'll need me for this. Why don't I go and start ripping a strip off of Maniac down in sickbay while you get this sorted?"

"Save some for us," said the sandy-haired man.

"No problem, Blair."

Lee couldn't help himself. "Maniac?"

Blair and Devereaux both grimaced. "A perpetual thorn in our sides," she said, "He ditched out on his wingman in the battle to go showboating, and we just put her to rest." Muttering, "Je suis dégoûté de celui hybride."

Lee felt his expression harden. "I see. I won't keep you long."

The two exchanged glances. Devereaux said, "Blair, you have more experience with... delicate operations than I do, no?"

He nodded. "I can get this sorted, if you'd like."

"Do that." She gave Lee a nod, and headed for her office.

"Delicate operations?" asked Lee, trying not to smile.

"Something like that. Let's walk some, and talk."

They started down the flight line, heading towards the repair bay. "So. If I'm following you, you want to do a little horse trading. One of your jump-capable ships for... what?"

"Something with shields, and energy weapons. I _think_ our technical people can reverse engineer that. And looking at your ship, I'm sure you can figure out ours."

Blair nodded slowly, looking thoughtful. "You flew over in one of your bombers, didn't you?"

"Yep. Colonial Raptor. Jump capable, full tank of tilium fuel, and by sheer co-incidence, a full set of technical and maintenance manuals in back."

Another slow nod. "Good co-incidence." He paused, glanced into one of the maintenance alcoves where a team was welding up a big, delta-winged fighter with what looked like a horizontal stablilizer at the nose. Turned back to Lee, looked him in the eye.

Lee met that gaze, and after a long, searching moment, Blair nodded. "I think we can sort something out. Trade you a slightly bent _Rapier_ for that Raptor?"

Lee extended a hand. "Deal."

* * *

_Captain's Log, suplemental. Repairs continue apace on the damage _Enterprise_ suffered during our battle with the Voidspawn. Thanks to the actions of our coalition fleet, the rift has closed, and our experts believe – and the specialists of both the Dimensional Republic of Bradeson and the Time Space Administration Bureau – that the 'mosaic' of universes that can be seen and traveled to from this location will resolve itself in the next forty-eight hours. Many of the ships of our fleet have already set out, intent on returning to tasks and conflicts of their own. They all fought well, and I have apended our sensor data to these reports._

_ The city of Seyruun on the inhabited world of this system was indeed besieged by creatures that __fit the definition of 'demons.' Though _Enterprise_ herself did not contribute personnel to the defense of this city, in keeping with the Prime Directive, our Klingon allies did. Between that, and our efforts in the general defense of the system against the Voidspawn, myself and my senior staff have been invited to a victory celebration being held by Seyruun's crown prince. For diplomatic reasons, I feel it would be impolitic to refuse._

_

* * *

_

Ranma looked bemused as yet another stranger took a pen to the cast on his arm and made his mark.

He wasn't entirely sure how this had gotten started, but it seemed that a lot of people had seen him take a crack at Xellos during the big fight, and had been impressed. Once they'd chased the rest of the Mazoku out of town – and they hadn't been too eager to fight after seeing their boss get offed – he'd more or less collapsed, and had woken up in _Claudia_'s medical bay. The doc had given him seven kinds of hell for getting hurt so badly, and for keeping fighting after being hurt, in a way that Ranma had come to associate with doctors who really cared about their patients. He'd even had a glare for Chrono when the Admiral had popped in and told him that, now that they knew what he could do, they'd probably get him training people. He'd replied that if they wanted him to train their people, to get in line at the dojo.

Ryoga had been in for a few moments, glad he was awake and healing, and jealous that he'd found yet more glory. But for the most part, he seemed genuinely glad that Ranma was more or less okay, "If only because they'd probably make me tell Akane and the girls. And I don't think I'd survive that." They were still keeping him under wraps... but not in a cell, any more. And Ranma'd caught him talking earnestly with several people, trying to learn what he could about making things up to a woman he'd offended. Ranma wished him the best of luck with Akari.

The ship's doc had set his arm – broken in three places by Xellos – and put it in a heavy cast "not so much because the cast is needed, but to be large, and awkward, and _remind_ you that you need to let that arm rest while it heals." It was sore, despite enough painkillers that Ranma knew he'd be having balance issues once he got tired. They might well be necessary: Xellos had been in a colossally bad mood, and he'd been casting to inflict pain over damage. Some of the cuts he'd gotten were going to scar despite magic healing.

The cast-signing hadn't been his idea. Another guy hurt in the ground fight had gotten it started, Daniel Jackson from SG-1, with his own broken arm. They'd started signing his cast, then some people decided to sign Ranma's as well. He had to admit though, it was kinda interesting. His translator bauble let him read the various signatures, even though most of them were in totally unfamiliar scripts. It would make for an interesting souvenir. The thought of the translator brought a smile. He had, it seemed, done some damage to it with his ki-based shenanigans. One of the techs had explained at _great length_ how what he'd done to brute-force magic out of the device was a very bad thing and something he should never ever do. But since we know that won't stop you, and aren't too proud to admit when someone shows us new ways to do things, we've modified it so that using it that way won't fry the device in the future.

Ranma blinked, realizing how much his thoughts were wandering. Oh yeah. _Gooood _painkillers.

Absently, Ranma chewed on some sweetbread as he looked around the great hall. Several of the mages were talking shop – when last he'd been near, Lina and Nanoha had been chatting about Raising Heart – and comparing spells. Lots of high up officers were mingling with nobles. A band playing something that Ranma's brain wanted to classify as classical music, but it probably, technically, wasn't, at least not here. It might be the local equivalent to J-pop, as far as he knew. No, too many old people listening to it. Couldn't be J-pop.

Speaking of old people; Prince Phil was standing near one of the drinks tables, gesturing for attention. The guy didn't look much like Ranma's idea of a typical prince, but he had presence. Chrono, Picard, Hoss, and the elder Adama were all near him, along with a couple others: the Klingon, Martok, and a matronly woman whose name he hadn't caught were all in the little knot of people near him, the rest of that group being locals. Tolwyn hadn't showed for the party, though a couple of his officers had. Something about that niggled at Ranma's mind, but he couldn't make his thoughts stay in one direction long enough to nail down what.

Prince Phil seemed to think he had enough of people's attention. "My friends; my people! My honored guests from beyond the stars! To victory, and to homecomings!" There was a good cheer at this, and Ranma took a sip at his own drink. Lots of people seemed really happy about this Princess Gracia coming back. She'd been gone for a long time, he gathered, since shortly after the assassination of her mother. Not a bad reason to run, all things considered. Her shot at Xellos had been impressive, even if it hadn't worked. He made a mental note to ask Nanoha if it was really as impressive as it looked to a relative novice like him. It'd be the sort of detail Lieutenant Ito would want when he handed over his report on this excursion.

Oh. Hell. The reporting part of things. That would suck. But it could wait until he was rested, on _Claudia_, with a less-muddled head and no random people popping by every few minutes to chat with him about fighting Xellos. And some other things. He shuddered for a moment at the memory of a surprisingly attractive Klingon woman who'd made some downright fiancee-like comments. The _last_ thing he needed in his life was yet another fighting woman after him.

* * *

Nanoha Takamachi wasn't much of a drinker, but she could handle the amount of liquor she'd need to be polite. Though she knew that, even just sipping politely at the various toasts would leave her with a hangover in the morning. Fate, who was also only sipping at her drink, had muttered something similar.

But it wouldn't be a patch on the hangover Lina would likely be suffering. The sorceress was enjoying her hero status, and the many, many drinks people passed her. Lina had returned Raising Heart to her shortly after she had awoken. Raising Heart had given her a firsthand account of what had happened – and Nanoha found herself both vaguely amused at how flustered her Intelligent Device seemed by the situation, and wishing she knew that spell. It was impressively powerful, and it wove together several types of energy; much more complex than she'd been told a planet like this could put together.

Of course, most of her formal instruction had been from the TSAB, who seemed rather poor at estimating what less advanced worlds could and could not do. She was waiting for them to realize how much they'd underestimated her homeworld. She hoped to be around when they did. It would be _entertaining._

Speaking of Lina, here she was now, extracting herself from a pack of celebrants. She'd spotted the other two mages, and was heading their way, pleasantly tipsy. "Hello again, Nanoha, Fate, Ragin' Heart."

WITH ALL DUE RESPECT; _RAISING_ HEART, MILADY.

Nanoha couldn't help herself, she giggled. Lina plopped down between her and Fate, which drew a momentary scowl from Fate.

"How goes the evening for the monster-slaying heroine?" asked the Blonde.

"It goes _great_," said Lina. "They _like_ me when I kill t' bad guy. 'Specially if I do it without flattenenen half the outer city."

_Did we just hear that right,_ said Fate mentally.

_I think we did. We _do _know she has that kind of power at her disposal. _Aloud, she asked, "Ah, have you done that often?" _And I believe she's drunker than I first guessed._

Lina gave an absent wave of dismissal. "Only t'once. Nobbody ever less me ferget it. K'lled lotsa monsters. Saved t' world a couple times. Do they remember that? No. Just t' time I assidently broke parta the outer city." She looked slightly dour. "Anyway. Is yer artifact workin right, Nanoha?"

"She seems to be. Thank you for returning her."

Lina took a moment to gather herself. "You're welcome. I wish I had one of those; they're incredible." She eyed Bardiche, in its storage form on the back of Fate's hand. "It was an honor to work with... her, I guess." A thoughtful silence. "I guess she's a bit like Zelgaddis, that way. Only... more constructed."

"It's not how you come into the world that's important," said Fate, smiling. "But what you do while you're here."

"Profound," said Lina, then she belched. "Hoo boy... I'm too drunk for profound."

"That's okay," said Nanoha, giggling. "For now, I'm happy enough that we all made it." A pause. "Although..." From a pocket, she pulled a small Intelligent Device; in the form of a pink octagonal crystal on a silver chain. Lina's eyes bugged out, and she made a grab for it. Nanoha twitched her hand up, and she missed. "There are conditions."

Lina sat back, shook her head to clear it. "I'm listening."

"It comes with some responsibilities. The Bureau might call upon your assistance from time to time, and such assistance would probably take you offworld for a time. And it could be dangerous. We'd also expect you to make sure your use of magic is safe; that you don't kill anyone if you could avoid it."

Lina nodded slowly, then stood. "I'll get back to you on this. I need to find something to sober myself up, and think."

* * *

Face Loran raised a glass of Seyruunian brandy, made sure he had the attention of the gathered pilots. "Ladies and gentlemen, to our wives and girlfriends." A pause, expression very straight. "May they never meet." A hearty round of chuckles and 'Here, here's sounded in response, as Dia playfully punched his arm.

The pilots had sequestered somebody's planning room a short distance from the main dining hall, where the night's celebrations were in full swing. There was only so much indig classical music and political speachifying they could take before rebelling, and rather than risk a blowup, the assorted squadron commanders had extracted their people for a private party. The palace staff had taken it in stride; bringing snacks and more booze. Wedge had the distinct impression that theirs was not the first group to split from the general celebration.

The room was packed, with a wide mix of dress uniforms on those who'd been invited, and assorted flight suits from the pilots who'd simply invited themselves, landing fighters all over the palace courtyard to the amazement and delight of guests. Gratifyingly, they hadn't cliqued up – pilots from half a dozen carriers chatting and gesticulating as they bragged of past fights. The largest single knot of pilots was largely a mix of Rogues, Wraiths, and some of the boys off of _Concordia, _gathered around Luke Skywalker and his apparent twin, Christopher Blair.

After a moment to let those who needed a top-off get one, Wedge himself stood. "Absent companions."

There was another, more sober, round of agreement. 'Ayes' mixing with nods and a whispered, 'So say we all.'. A lot of them drained their snifters rather than sip. Wedge let the brandy trail fire down his throat for a long moment, then decided to mingle a bit, not wanting to brood.

He wasn't the only one. After a moment, he found himself next to John Sheppard, Lee Adama and Jeannette Devereaux. The four exchanged nods. After a moment, Adama said, "Colonel, were you able to deal with that problem of yours?"

The brunette scowled. "Non. Apparently, after ditching his wingman and getting his own ass shot down, Marshal suffered a nervous breakdown of some kind. The CMO's got him sedated."

Wedge frowned along with the others. "And if he's snapped, that'll cover him from whatever idiocy he did?"

Devereaux nodded glumly. "The best I can hope for is to just get him a psych discharge. It's kinder than he deserves, but at least it'll get him out of a cockpit. Merde, after ten years of his nonsense, you'd think _something_ would have stuck."

"Was he saying anything?" Asked Lee.

"Ranting about something called 'the matrix' and some woman named Tovara. No idea what it means."

Expression showing sudden understanding, and the beginnings of a grin, Sheppard said, "He got picked up by Dan Leary, didn't he?"

Devereaux blinked. "Oui, he did. How did you know?"

Sheppard froze for a moment, then said, "We've, ah, run into him before. His people call their FTL 'the matrix' and it's pretty rough on the system. And Tovara's one of his staff, a real piece of work." A pause. "My condolences. On getting him back."

A bleak smile. "My cross to bear, I suppose."

* * *

Lina Inverse looked upon the majestic spread of food before her, and sighed dreamily. _Another advantage to civilization is having someone else cook for you. And occasionally, having them do it for free._ A similar sigh came from the far side of the table, and she and Gourry exchanged glares. Frowning, she looked to the other place settings. Amelia looked ready to contest things, as did Naga – still looking odd to Lina's eye in royal finery. Then knives and forks were drawn, and the battle for breakfast began. The sounds of ravenous hunger were punctuated with the clash of silverwear as the four of them sought to devour.

"Miss Inverse," interrupted a mousey looking guy in messengers robes. "Sorry to interrupt your breakfast, but, well, we've received two messages for you this morning."

Lina blinked, swallowed a mouthful of sausage, offhandedly deflected Gourry's fork as it sought to steal from her plate. "Two letters? For me?" _Delivered to the palace? _"Who are they from?"

"Neither envelope was marked, Miss Inverse. Both were delivered by spell." He looked a little nervous at that, but part of that might just be how very... militant... the assembled mages and warrior were being about their food. And the fact that he was interrupting her when she would really rather be eating.

"Well..." she gave a quick glare at the others. Now was not a time to retreat from the battlefield. "I'll read them here, I think."

"Of course, Miss Inverse. Here they are." From a sleeve he produced two envelopes. One was very plain, a parchment envelope the colour of weak tea. The other a stiffer, more elaborate stock stamped with a pattern of waves. With one hand, she opened the plain envelope, removed an equally plain piece of paper. She stiffened as she recognized the handwriting, but forced herself to relax. This was no time to display weakness; the hand without a letter in it was busily defending her chosen share of the breakfast spread.

_Lina;_

_ Well done, little sister. I knew you could handle the situation._

_ -Luna_

She read it twice, thought it over as she attacked some ham. There were no threats or barbed words that she could see. Just a note of confidence. Well. Perhaps that was all that was going on with her sister. She smiled, opened the second, fancier envelope. The letter within was equally fancy. It was nice, but also a bit unnerving. She didn't recognize the handwriting, and so simply began to read.

_To Lina Inverse, Dragon Spooker, Bandit Slayer, and Enemy of All Who Live;_

_ I would like to apologize for my actions at our last meeting. In my defense, the situation was not one of my choosing, and had I been given the option, I would not have set myself against you so directly. I certainly understand your response to my boorish behavior, and I deserved it. _

_ I am no longer in the employ of the Mistress who set me against you, having found my way into the good graces of a mutual friend of ours. With luck we shall work together again in the future!_

_ Your old traveling companion,_

_ -X_

Lina felt herself pale as she read the letter and realized its implications. This... was not good. The wondrous feast set before her suddenly held no appeal. Thought of the offer Nanoha had made her last night, and what it would entail. Suddenly, some of those restrictions seemed rather less dire.

* * *

_Galactica_ was in place-of-pride within the Bradeson formation as they prepared for the next jump in their voyage home. Partly, that was to honor what they'd done. Mostly, it was sheer necessity. Umbilicals linked the Battlestar to three other ships and repair crews labored to keep them flying as they returned to their new home.

The TSAB had taken care of ferrying most of the others home, though for quite understandable reasons, when asked Hoss had told Haralowan to go frak himself. Politely. Despite the battle damage several of their ships had suffered, they'd managed. Both to keep the Bucket in one piece; at least for one last trip; and to get their fleet out as the mosaic of universes... closed. All that was left was counting the breakage. And William Adama was feeling mighty drained by that.

The _Galactica_ was finished as a fighting ship. Her back was broken. Her sensors burned away. Fully two thirds of her guns destroyed. The jump drive was, as Galen put it with a frown, 'Marginal.' There was some debate, quietly and where people thought he wouldn't hear them, about weather it was even practical to try and save her, or if she should just be sent to the breakers.

The words hurt, but they didn't break his heart. Realizing that they were probably right; that the old girl was beyond saving... that did.

And even if it hadn't... they'd lost a lot of people. Techs, ratings, spacehands, half a dozen bridge crew. Felix's mangled leg had been taken off by flying debris, just above the knee. He was aboard _Admiral Minsk_ now, with the other wounded, being tended to by their docs and fitted for an artificial leg. They'd lost pilots. Too many of them youngsters, blooded but not truly veterans. And a woman he'd loved like a daughter. Who'd almost been his daughter before... before.

Bill Adama felt broken, beyond his physical hurts and injuries. He didn't want to go on.

And why should he have to? The long, manic escape was done; they'd found a new home. Mail had arrived with the last jump; images of their new settlement on Masira – there was a debate raging on the name, it seemed, and Bill couldn't bring himself to give a frak – as well as letters to the crew and general news. His people were safe from the Cylons – so far beyond their reach it was almost funny. Peace and relative prosperity were the new watchword for the Colonials. Building on a new world wouldn't be easy, but there was a future in it.

No; the people of his fleet didn't need him. And he didn't need to continue to suffer this way.

He looked down at his desk. Half a bottle of Seyruunian brandy sat there; next to his service pistol. For a long, soulful moment he contemplated both. The brandy had numbed him, some. Made it hurt a little less. But he knew it wouldn't last. It never did. He had enough pains. Enough losses. Enough dead. _Perhaps it's time I join them._ He reached a shaky hand towards the pistol.

Warm, softly glowing fingers gripped his wrist, and a voice both beautiful and terrible said, _"No, William. Your people still need you."_

He looked up and felt himself grow pale. Kara. Clad in her flight suit; glowing with a soft golden light, Kara. "Impossible... you died..."

She smiled. _"I am not Kara Thrace, William. I am the entity whose prison you destroyed. You freed me, and for that I thank you. I have taken Kara's form because no mortal could comprehend my true form. And because she died bravely, with you in her heart."_

"You... I..." he swallowed, gathered his thoughts. "Thank you for telling me that. It helps. But who are you? _What _are you? And why are you here?"

A bright, enigmatic smile that had no place on Kara's lips, and yet looked natural there. _"I have many names. Lord of Nightmares, Suzumiya, Rythar and Mythar, Azathoth... All of them, and none of them, are accurate. As to what... I am a goddess of creation and chaos. And I am here because you did me a great service, and I pay my debts. Your people need you, William Adama. Never forget that."_ She leaned close and kissed him gently on the forehead, and the world went white.

He woke up on the floor, with Saul shaking him. "Wake up, frak it."

"I'm awake, Saul," he said, stirring. He felt woozy, head swimming as he sat up. "What happened?"

"Damned if I know." The one eyed man stood. "I walked in, saw your Issue on the desk and you on the floor. Don't you scare me like that again, you bastard." He offered a hand up.

Bill took it. "Sorry. Must've had more to drink than I thought." _Enough to be seeing things._

"You shouldn't do that," said Saul with a grin. "That's my job." A moment's pause. "How you feeling?"

He was about to say 'terrible' when he realized... that he didn't. Now that the initial wooziness had passed, he felt... well, he felt healthier than he had in years. _Maybe it wasn't just some delusion._ "I feel... I feel fine." He nodded. "Now. You wouldn't come down here without a reason, Saul. So what's going on?"

"Well, nothing major, but Hoss is on the wireless for you..."

* * *

The sun rose over marble buildings with tiled roofs, giving the large, exquisite meeting room a bright, almost hopeful look. Ambassador Teram Jefe, TSAB, stood at the window and gazed out over Seyruun. It had been chosen as the site of this important meeting due to its neutrality. The local sovereign had been happy to give his city's saviors a neutral venue in which to meet. The ambassador's aides were quietly comparing their files, making certain they had everything they'd need ready.

The TSAB had no love for war. Perhaps this one could be brought to a close before more lives were lost.

The door opened, and Teram turned. His Bradeson counterpart, Gima Sherco, entered, followed by his assistants and a handful of Seyruunians, those last bringing refreshments. "Ambassador Jefe, good morning. I hope we've not kept you waiting."

"Not at all, Ambassador Sherco. I was merely enjoying the view." He gestured at the table. "Shall we begin?"

* * *

Author's Notes

When I started Grand Tour, I hadn't intended to write a trilogy, and while it looks like I have for now, I've got plans to keep going eventually. I'd like to think I've learned a thing or two along the way, as well.

If nothing else, I've learned the importance of planning ahead and researching exhaustively. Grand Tour was very scattershot, with the 'real' plot not really taking form in my head until I got almost halfway through the story. Journey was better, with a general outline done before I really started writing, but not enough details were filled in. That left me with hanging plot points, and a few characters that really didn't do much of anything because I couldn't think of anything to do with them beyond one or two scenes. Sorry, HB, I like you, but I screwed the pooch there.

Odyssey was plotted almost entirely before I ever started writing it. Indeed, I had the basic skeleton of the story in mind before I'd even finished Journey. It went through several permutations as I fleshed out that skeleton, research and general fiddling with things to make them all fit as well as possible. Some scenes got written early, and had to be discarded when I realized that they didn't fit quite so well as I'd first thought they might.

For instance, early on I'd planned to bring in a few more SciFi 'verses in the early 'gathering information and allies' stage of the plot. In addition to Wing Commander, Nanoha, and Trek, Team Good was also going to run into Honor Harrington and that irrepressible bastard Miles Vorkosigan. I'd also planned for Daniel Leary to have a much larger roll in the plot. But that started to come apart on future planning. Working on his scenes, I quickly realized that I simply could not do Vorkosigan justice, and rather than write him poorly, I excised that from the plot. Harrington presented a different problem: she's got her orders and duties, and tearing off to deal with space squids isn't something she'd do. She's got Peeps/Sollies/Mesans to kill, and no time to waste. And Leary, much as I love the character and the setting, was simply too underpowered to contribute. I was stretching things a hell of a lot already, just bringing in the _Galactica_. The _Princess Cecile_, having no shields, no artificial gravity, no acceleration compensator, and shit weapons, would have been worse than useless in any normal fight. And they made off with half of a _Morningstar_ class fighter, full of reverse-engineerable tech that most settings would consider standard issue, yet are utter gamebreakers for Leary and co. Up Cinnabar!

Picard's an explorer, so him being in on this was a no-brainer. Tolwyn is a careerist who wouldn't be willing, but I had the convenient lever of covert ops people to shoehorn him into the story. (And if someone asks me if I brought in Wing Commander entirely for the bit where Blair and Skywalker fly together, I'll deny it, but I'd be lying) Adama is a desperate man in a terrible situation, and he couldn't really afford to say no.

Bringing in all the heroes at the end was, I'll admit, self indulgent and something of an attempt to 'top' the endings of Journey and Grand Tour... and I'm not sure if I managed it, but it still seemed to work out okay. If nothing else, I got to hang some lampshades with the Stargate crew, and the scenario kinda needed them.

I did a lot of research for this one(though it still didn't save me from some mistakes – which the lads over at Spacebattles [Hi guys!] quickly and helpfully pointed out) and at any given time over the last few months I've had at least 20 different Wiki pages up across several different wikis. It was a lot of work, but overall I think it helped the story.

I was surprised by a few things over the course of the story. I'd expected the identity of She Who Is As Gold to remain a mystery for a bit – and it seems I either overestimated my ability to be subtle, or underestimated the deductive abilities of my audience, because it was guessed damn near instantly. Thus, some of the Slayers stuff got moved ahead in the timeline, since there was really no point in being coy about it.

And speaking of the timeline... I'll come clean. The 'time running at different speeds' thing was pure handwavium bullshit on my part. I did it because I knew that, in order to get the Trek plot to a point where I could just grab the characters I wanted and plunk them into the story, I'd need to run that forward until after the end of the Dominion War, thus a 2 year timeskip, to let things settle out after war's end. Of course, that leaves me with a bit of a problem: if everything rolls forward two years, Grand Admiral Thrawn's dead to an artful knife thrust, and the Empire is being run by howling idiots who've sidelined Pellaeon. Including Dalla, who is very high on my personal list of 'worst characters of the Star Wars EU.' So. Handwavium bullshit to keep the commander I wanted in charge. Initially, this was because I wanted to do a sequence pitting Thrawn against Harrington. That didn't happen, of course, which I kind of regret.

Trying to balance the ground fight and space battle in the finale was hard, and ultimately I think I failed. My thought had been to emphasize the space battle more, but I think that the ground fight's a little more engaging. Given the lower stakes, that's not ideal, but it could have been worse: in the earliest versions of the plot outline, the ground fight was going to be even bigger; with mages all over the multiverse noticing the Rift, and using it as a way to... dispose of assorted heroic thorns in their side. So Grey Seer Thanquol was going to send Gotrek and Felix to Seyruun; the surviving God Hand were going to get rid of Guts, and so on. But there were already too many characters running around, and it was set to get a little rediculous. So I dropped that idea, and settled for breaking the Slayers tradition of not having Amelia and Naga run into each other(while simultaneously using Naga as comic relief) and making a voice actress gag between Ran-Chan and Lina.

In the end, I think the problem with balancing the two fights in favor of the space battle came down to a quirk of my personal writing style: I like to do every scene from a given character's perspective, and that means getting into that character's head. That can be a little scary(some of the folks from nBSG in particular are just messed), not to mention tricky. It was part of the reason I didn't wind up using Miles – his headspace is just _screwy_ – and it more or less limited anything I did with Leary to Leary himself: the other primary viewpoint character in that series is Adele Mundy, and much as I love the character, she's a borderline sociopath(Her assistant/bodyguard Tovara is an outright psychopath. Maniac was not ranting about her without reason). I gave myself enough nightmares trying to get into Balalaika's head while writing Journey, thank you very much.

For various reasons, I found it harder to get into the heads of a lot of the sci-fi characters, making it hard to spread the action around in that sequence. Given the smaller scale and fewer named characters, the ground fight was much easier to have one guy all over the place.

Anyway, that's my musings on this tale. Thanks for reading this far. Below are a few scenes that I wrote early on that ultimately got cut for one reason or another. Enjoy!

* * *

Omake

_Initially, I planned on making extensive use of the fiancees and the Inner Senshi, as my first thoughts were along the lines of 'Use EVERYONE!' I'd wanted Ryoga to be 'out,' and I'd figured at first, why not get a little more work out of that to do some exposition and such. So I wrote the following scene, and I figured it was good. It involved Ranma talking about his love life and fiancees, which I was a little hesitant to do, as it's a sore subject for many Ranma fans, but it got cut not because I was feeling gunshy(if I was, it wouldn't be back for this part) but because I couldn't think of anything else significant for the fiancees to do after this point in the story. So I pared back their involvement significantly, and made Ryoga's curse being outed part of the backstory._

_ Some parts of it(primarily Ranma and Nanoha's two conversations) were initally going to be put back in during a sparring session/conversation between Ranma and Aston, but ultimately that got dropped as I couldn't find a place to put it that didn't just feel like filler._

_ Now. In a (likely futile) attempt to head off a flamefest re: Ranma's romantic feelings, I would like to make the following statement: If I were in Ranma Saotome's position, I wouldn't be going after any of the main three fiancees. Shampoo's crazy and more than slightly murderous; Ukyo's somewhat delusional, and Akane... Akane Tendo is a big bundle of issues and neurosis, probably including Rage __Disorder and definitely including a lot of displacement and projection(My pet theory is that she reacts so strongly to Ranma because she's a deeply in denial bisexual; finds both his forms attractive, and is terribly conflicted by it. And since she wants to be a Good Girl like her big sister Kasumi, and Good Girls aren't gay or perverted, thus she can't be attracted to Ranma, thus he's a pervert making her feel this way)._

_ But there's a very important distinction to be made: I am not Ranma Saotome. Throughout the manga, there are many scenes where it becomes somewhat clear that Ranma is well and truly attracted to Akane, and she to him. But both characters have their own psychological issues and pride, and they just can't get over themselves to deal with it. And I've seen enough relationships in the real world where I don't have a clue what he sees in her, or vice versa, that still very obviously work for the individuals involved. So I can accept that there's something there, that I just can't see. And I'm certainly in no position to critique anyone else's love life, what with being a pig-ugly 27 year old virgin who'se never been on a date in his life._

_ So. Anyway. Here it is. Those who are offended, feel free to flame away, but I'd hope you at least have cogent arguments for your fire._

_

* * *

_

Ranma was, rather incongruously, in the O-club when Nanoha tracked him down. She'd been genuinely surprised when she hadn't turned him up in the gym – the rest of the martial artists were down there, along with most of the Inner Senshi, putting on a hell of a show for the off-duty crew. But no, Ranma was sitting quietly at a corner table, head bobbing lightly to whatever was going through his headphones, as he worked at something on scratch paper, glancing from the paper to a thick textbook.

Clearly, the last two years had been... interesting... for the martial artist.

Though he seemed engrossed in what he was working on, he noticed her approach, flipped the headphones down. "Hey, Nanoha. What's up?"

"I was just trying to find you. I'll freely admit this isn't where I was expecting you."

"I checked with the bartender before I set up – she told me that I more or less qualified."

Nanoha took a seat opposite him. "I didn't mean the O-club, specifically... but, well, sitting _anywhere_ just..." she glanced at the textbook, "doing maths, doesn't seem like you."

Ranma's smile looked more sardonic than his usual. "If I learned anything in the last two years, it's that there is way, way more a guy hasta learn than I thought growin' up." He shrugged. "I'm tryin' ta make up for lost time, much as anythin' else." Using his scratch paper as a bookmark, he closed the textbook and pushed it aside. "Anyway. What's up?"

"Well, _Claudia_'s chief doctor is a specialist in curses. I was wondering if you wanted to get her to take a look at your own little Jusenkyo problem."

Ranma sat back. "Eh.. I ain't lookin' too hard for a cure right now, but thanks fer t' offer."

"Now I'm really confused. Not looking for a cure?"

Ranma looked away. "It's complicated, okay? Look do ya really wanna hear me rant about my problems?" He took a breath as if to continue, then his eyes got wide and unfocused. After a moment he turned back to Nanoha, and asked, "Wait, is someone goin' ta make the same offer to Ryoga?"

* * *

Akane had always had a soft spot for Ryoga, and while they'd grown apart some after he'd found Akari, she still considered the former Lost Boy a friend. He'd understood the trials and tribulations she went through, dealing with Ranma. He, too, had been a victim of Ranma, as well as his friend – two conditions that seemed to overlap heavily.

Right now, the Lost Boy was sparring with one of the TSAB Marines, who was giving him a good run for his money. She cheered her bandana'd friend, probably the only boys she'd ever known who had never betrayed her trust. Eventually, the Marine yielded – defeated as much by Ryoga's raw toughness than his skills, but close enough. As he walked towards the sidelines, where she sat with Shampoo and Ukyo. She was about to hand him one of the water bottles when one of the TSAB types, looking something like a nurse, spoke up.

"Mister Hibiki? You inquired earlier about a curse consultation?"

Ryoga's mouth opened to respond, then he froze, eyes flicking towards Akane. For her own part, Akane was confused. "I thought they cured your curse last time."

"They did!" he said, too quickly.

The nurse looked again to her clipboard. "According to this, your hereditary curse – involuntary translocation – was cured, but not your Jusenkyo transformation curse."

Akane froze; Ryoga looked stricken.

"He has a Jusenkyo curse?" she asked, tone very flat.

"Yes," said the nurse, looking at her clipboard and not seeing Ryoga shake his head, mouthing 'no, no, no.' to her. "According to this, it takes the form of a small, black pig."

Shampoo started giggling.

Trembling, Akane's hand tightened on the water bottle she held. "A small... black... pig?" She advanced on Ryoga, who fell back, hands raised as if to ward off a blow, stammering something incoherent. Popping the lid on the bottle, she squeezed. A spray of cold water splashed against the Lost Boy-

-And where he had stood was now a small, black pig. A very familiar small black pig, with a very familiar yellow and black bandana around its neck. P-chan. Ryoga.

Ki and fury welled up within her in equal amounts. She felt her battle aura flare around her as an elaborate and spiky mace formed in her hands.

_Bweee_ing in terror, Ryoga fled, and she charged, screaming a scream of rage and hurt and betrayal.

* * *

Ukyo had thought she had seen Akane angry before. Not simply with her beloved Ranma, but the nova-hot fury she'd shown a year ago, when that Tibetan warlord had kidnapped Kasumi. That fury, with which she had scythed through his gathered minions, was beggared by the one gripping her now as she attempted to catch and kill the fleeing Ryoga. Her battle aura was intense enough to hurl light objects away from her path as she charged – everything from drink bottles and rolled bandages to a decent-sized floor mat. Regular crew and Marines alike dove out of her path.

The ninja-trained chef was dearly glad that Akane's rage wasn't being directed at her. Even more, and this thought brought a smirk, her reaction(mace and immediate homicidal charge) had a thousand yen in the pool under Ukyo's name. She'd make a point to collect from Nabiki when they got back.

A few of the Marines were trying to contain things now, throwing spells to try and bind her. They were in a hurry; most of them missed. Those that did hit barely slowed her, bits of magical chain _ping_ing off the floor as they flew apart and disintegrated. The fact that she was bursting out of those binds was kind of unnerving, but if Ukyo knew Akane's temper, she was in no danger of having it redirected at her.

The one person who _was_ in danger of catching fire from Akane(other than Ryoga, at least) burst into the room, with Takamachi half a step behind him. The brown-haired mage threw a bind more potent than the others, one that stopped Akane cold, and her beloved, never slow, suddenly _moved_ with the incredible speed he was capable of, crossing fifty feet of gymnasium and scooping up Ryoga by the bandana with a perfectly aimed grab in an eyeblink. He was shaking his head.

"'Kane, ya can't just kill him."

"Do you know what he was doing? What he's been lying to me about?" She was struggling against the binds Takamachi had placed on her, strength lent by fury stressing them.

"Yes." Ranma walked towards her, still carrying a struggling Ryoga.

Akane was silent for a long moment, looking from Ranma to the pig he held and back. "You _knew?_"

"Yep."

She exploded with renewed fury, and Takamachi quickly reenforced the binds holding her. _**"Why the hell didn't you stop him! Why didn't you tell me?"**_

"He made me swear not to tell you. I didn't know you'd made him a pet at the time." He looked away. "I did try ta stop him, an' you just got mad at me fer tormentin' P-chan."

_**"How dare you! How dare you blame me! WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME?"**_

In the face of her fury he remained calm, and Ukyo was reminded of why she loved him so. "I swore not ta tell ya outright, an' ya got mad when I tried ta stop him, but I still tried ta drop hints. Why do ya think I kept callin'_ him_ P-chan, an' makin' all those pig jokes?" He glanced away for a moment. "I couldn't break my word outright without breakin' my honor, Akane."

Akane's eyes widened for a moment as she tried to process what Ranma had just pointed out, all the hints he'd dropped over the last few years. Then she snarled, "Your honor? You just let him take advantage of me for the sake of your pathetic, worthless honor?"

For an instant, Ranma's face was etched with a fury to match Akane's. Then he closed his eyes, visibly restraining himself, and exhaled slowly. He tossed Ryoga to a nearby Marine and said, "You might wanna lock him up for his own safety for a while." Turning he started towards the exit.

"Hey!" shouted Akane, voice still laden with venom. "Where do you think you're going, you honorless bastard?"

Other than one fist clenching, Ranma ignored her, stalking out the door.

Ukyo was conflicted. The three fiancees might have agreed to something of a cease-fire among themselves, but they hadn't given up their claims on Ranma. It did her heart good to watch Akane torpedo her chances with Ranma, but at the same time it hurt her to see him in such pain.

* * *

It took medical intervention to get Akane calmed down – and god only knew if she'd start trying to wreck things once she woke up. After that, Nanoha had to get an incident report filed and generally get the situation stabilized. Finally, Ranma seemed to have a knack for finding out-of-the-way corners. It took most of an hour for her to track him down.

When she finally did find Ranma, the martial artist was sitting in a vent, hunched in on himself and brooding. "Are you going to be okay?"

In a voice scratchy and pained, he said, "I'll be fine. Just gotta calm down some more."

Nanoha seated herself next to the vent. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"No. Ain't manly ta try an' dump my problems on somebody."

"Perhaps it isn't, but I like to consider you a friend, and I do not enjoy seeing my friends in pain." She paused for a moment. "I won't judge you, Ranma, and I won't condemn. I think you'll find that talking about it will help."

There was a long silence, then the martial artist took a ragged breath. "Oh, what the hell. I know you know about the three fiancees thing, ya mentioned that way back when. That's part of th' problem. As long as I still got this curse, some o' the pressure is offa that – but Mom's told me outright that soon as it's gone, she expects a wedding an' grandkids on the way. I ain't entirely outa the woods on the whole 'man among men' thing, either."

"The situation is certainly complex. Is that why you said you weren't too interested in a cure right now?"

"Most of it. It's also... I got less expectations on me as a girl. I c'n enjoy myself doin' something that isn't martial arts, an' nobody gives me a hard time if I wanna have a buncha sweets or ice cream or whatever. I cook better as a girl, too, an' I got NO idea how that works." He paused, took an unsteady breath, and continued. "But yeah, mostly the fiancee thing. It feels like I'm surrounded by traps, Nanoha. If I marry one of them, that leaves two other oaths broken, an' my honor broken with 'em. I'm wrackin' my brains ta figure out some way _out_ of the trap, but I just ain't havin' any luck. 'Kane shoutin' bout my honor bein' worthless don't help."

"Your honor is very important to you, isn't it?"

"Honor is everything," he said quickly. "If a martial artist don't got no honor – hell, if any man don't got honor, he's worthless."

"From where I sit, you seem to have a great deal of it."

"I hope so. Biggest difference between me an' my pop. He's dragged the family honor through the mud, way he's been."

"And you feel the need to redeem it?"

"Somebody's gotta. Ain't nobody else who can." There was a long silence. Nanoha waited patiently. If she was any judge of people, Ranma was working himself up to continue, and she could give him some time.

Finally he continued. "I'm tryin' ta figure out a way to _fix_ things. Ta get this settled without dishonoring myself, or 'Kane, or Ukyo or Shampoo. 'Till I do, I'm buyin' time. Stallin' on a cure, movin' out o' the Tendo place... Buyin' time so's I can figure it out."

"Considering your goal, it doesn't seem like a bad plan, but are you sure you _can_ find a way to fix this? It's awfully complicated."

"Ranma Saotome don't lose," he answered quickly, almost automatically. "I'll find a way." Almost too quiet to hear, he finished with, "I gotta."

"You hold yourself to a high standard, Ranma."

"Shouldn't I? Even without the oath to Mom, what's wrong with a guy tryin ta' be the best he can?"

"Nothing. As long as his definition of best isn't impossible to reach."

His response was a non-committal grunt.

She decided to try another tack. "What about the girls in question?"

"Well, Ukyo's literally my oldest friend. Met her way back in the day. She's easiest to talk to, an' I'd hate ta hurt her. She's kinda half-way between a best friend an' a sister, if that makes any sense. Shampoo... I respect her, an' especially what she can do. She's a great martial artist, an' she's got a drive like you wouldn't believe. I think she's a friend, these days, but there's just so much baggage with her."

"Family?"

"Not just her family. I could handle her family. But she'd drag me back to the Amazon village, an' I'd never get away. Couldn't deal with all that. An' not just fer me. Any kids would be stuck there, too. A boy wouldn't have any options, just drudge work. A daughter would get to be a warrior, but that's about it. I never had a choice about what I'd be. I like bein' a martial artist, but if I ever have kids, they're gonna get ta _choose_."

There was venom, old hurts, in that. Yes, he had changed in the last two years. "I can see where it would be intimidating." A pause. "What about Akane?"

She heard the flinch in his voice. "Akane's... complicated. I don't really wanna go there." There was some pleading in his tone. Nanoha just waited. She'd spent some time as a sounding board before, she could tell when the best way to get more information was to wait quietly. A few moments later, Ranma started talking again. "I... care about her. More than that, I guess. I'd die for her. I've killed for her. I... I can't deal with the thought of not havin' her in my life. Yeah, she's got a heckuvan ego, an' a temper, but so do I. I.. She..." He paused a moment, voice faltering. He made several false starts. Finally, quietly; "I.. I love her. I'm pretty sure she loves me back."

Ranma fell silent again, breathing raggedly. After a few moments, he seemed to calm himself. "So. Yeah, that's the situation. I just wish I knew how ta fix it."

"I haven't really had any problems like that," said Nanoha. "I suppose I'm quite fortunate that way. But for what it's worth, I think you're a good man, trying your best. And that counts for a lot."

"It does, don't it?" Ranma uncurled himself from his position in the vent, landed lightly on the deck. "Thanks fer listenin,' you were right. It did help."

"I'm glad. Feeling better?"

"Enough fer now." He frowned thoughtfully. "'Kane probably don't want to see me right now, so I think I'll just keep my head down fer a while. Back to the calc, I guess." He waved absently as he started off down the corridor.

Nanoha watched him go for a moment, and when he was around the next bend, she glanced towards a shadow aft of where she sat and said, "So, how much of that did you overhear?"

Ukyo Kuonji seemed to melt out of the shadow; the ninja-trained girl's face wary. "How did you know I was there?"

Nanoha just smiled slightly. "Old family trick."

Ukyo shrugged. "Fair enough. I caught most of that... I hadn't realized there was so much... method to Ranma's madness lately. He's a lot smarter than he seems." She smiled, expression somewhat dreamy.

"An impression I got shortly after meeting him. I wonder, what do you plan to do with what you heard? Now that you've heard his position."

The ninja-trained chef sighed. "I... I don't know. I guess I have to think about that still."

Nanoha decided a little emotional blackmail wouldn't be out of order. "He's in a lot of pain because of this situation."

Ukyo tried and failed to cover her wince. The look she favored Nanoha with could best be described as uncharitable, then she glanced away, looking a little embarrassed. "I know. I just... I have to think about this still."

* * *

Ukyo was still thinking half an hour later when she made her way back to the quarters she was sharing with Shampoo and Akane. The Chinese Amazon was in the medical ward, getting some kind of test to see if they could remove her own Jusenkyo curse. For what it was worth, the cook wished her rival luck in that. Akane was probably still in sickbay or back in the gym working over a practice dummy. She didn't particularly want to talk to either of them right now. Part of her still wanted to find Ranma and try to comfort him, though with slightly more interest in comfort than calculation. But her own feelings were in turmoil, and something told her she'd be best served to get them in order before catching up with Ranma.

She slipped into the guest quarters, absently slapping the light switch and turning towards the bunks. The sound of a quiet _snif_ froze her in her tracks. Suddenly paying attention to her surroundings, she looked and saw Akane sitting on her bunk, knees hugged against her chest, looking as if she'd been crying.

For a long moment the two rivals simply looked at each other. Akane broke the silence in a voice strained and shakey. "You knew, didn't you?"

Ukyo looked away, seated herself on the bunk opposite. "Yes."

Another soft _snif._ "Who else?"

"The Amazons did." She hesitated a moment, feeling uneasy. "So did Nabiki."

Akane looked up, a burst of anger burning its way through her sorrow. "_Nabiki?_ My older sister? And she didn't tell me?"

Ukyo blushed, feeling slightly guilty. "She started a betting pool."

Akane buried her face in her hands. "Oh, Kamis..."

"Are you gonna be okay?"

"I feel like such an idiot," said Akane, voice muffled by hands and sobs. "Three years! Three years of Ranma dropping hints and I never figured it out. Kamis, he must think I'm as dumb as the Kunos."

_I love her,_ echoed Ranma's words in Ukyo's mind. _I can't deal with the thought of not having her in my life._ "I don't think he does."

"Why didn't anyone just... _tell_ me?"

Ukyo blushed from embarrassment. After a moment's hesitation, she answered. "Well, at first, I didn't want to mention it because, well, I was hoping you would hook up with Ryoga, and get out of the competition for Ranma. I can't really speak for the others."

"And after Ryoga and Akari got together?"

Ukyo looked away. "It... didn't seem all that important, and it was easier to just... not mention anything." A breath, ragged. "I should have told you. I'm sorry."

For a long moment the two girls sat in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. After a long moment, Akane said, "I understand why you didn't, I guess. Still friends?"

Ukyo smiled, felt a knot of tension release. "Still friends."

* * *

_ As I mentioned in the Author's Notes, I'd initially planned to have Harrington involved, and throw her up against Thrawn. This scene was the start of that sequence, and would more or less kick off the first big space battle, that ended with the Rift forming. I had intended for there to be more bits, culminating in Thrawn deducing what Honorverse ships use as drives just from his sensors(for those not familiar; artificial gravity waves) and use those waves as a sort of Interdictor field to hyperjump _Chimaera_ from its position in high orbit to point blank range, where a Star Destroyer would hold the advantage. I never did get that far, though, before realizing that Honor wouldn't come to this party._

_

* * *

_

Honor resisted the urge to sigh. From the limited information she had about the various parties involved in this mess, she'd more or less expected that a battle would take place, but she'd hoped to be proven wrong. Still, she'd made good use of the time. HMS _Imperator _had been accelerating vaguely above the Imperial fleet at a lazy 350_g_ as the three fleets had tried to talk to one another, and was roughly twenty-four light-seconds from the Star Destroyer formation. Well inside the range of the multi-drive missiles loaded into their pods.

And they'd been quietly rolling pods for the last two minutes; when it had become clear that a fight was all but inevitable. Seventy-two of the Mark 17 missile pods were on tow now, trailing behind the SD(P) and waiting to be unleashed. Honor scanned the tactical display, trying to pick her best target. None of the Star Destroyers were utilizing much EWAR, nor did they appear to be making any radical maneuvers. Part of her was tempted to make them pay for that arrogance; to spread her fire among the lot of them. But they didn't really know how tough these Star Destroyers were. Nor did they know which of the ships was the Imperial flag – neither their own sensors nor those of their Ghost Rider drones had been able to pin down the ship Pellaeon had transmitted from.

She could feel Rafael's questioning gaze upon her. Honor gave the board one last glance over, and then turned towards her flag captain. "Captain Cardones, go to full acceleration, target all pods on the nearest Star Destroyer and open fire."

* * *

By happenstance, the victim of the opening Manticoran barrage was the Star Destroyer _Peremptory._ For all her sensors had seen _Imperator_ earlier, they had taken little note of the SD(P). After all, she was the best part of nine million kilometers from the battle – far beyond the Star Destroyer's own effective range, and vastly farther than any missile of which they'd ever heard. Absent orders from the Grand Admiral, _Premptory'_s Captain was inclined to ignore it until they had disposed of enemies in range to actually threaten them. There were certainly plenty of those to go around, with the Imperials pinned between the two opposing fleets.

So when six hundred heavy missiles began screaming towards the Star Destroyer, accelerating at over 900 kilometers per second squared, he could be forgiven for taking a few moments to realize what was happening.

Slightly panicked orders started the mighty ship's dorsal batteries firing at the could of missiles, picking off a few of the missiles as they raced towards them, but the missiles – impossibly – appeared to be approaching in some kind of evasive pattern. Even worse, they started projecting some kind of jamming signal, making targeting the things next to impossible.

For their own parts, the multi-drive missiles and their guidance AIs would have sneered in contempt of their targets were they capable of such. Designed to pierce thick fusillades of countermissiles and precisely directed energy beams, the panicked, disorganized counterfire of the Star Destroyer and her desultory jamming was practically nothing. A few were still hit, of course – the Demon Murphy played no favorites – but over five hundred and seventy of the missiles survived to reach detonation range, each warhead a cluster of six bomb-pumped laser cannons that fired at 25,000 kilometers. The Star Destroyer – being a large, broad target that was not attempting evasive maneuvers – caught over eighty percent of the barrage; her shields battered down and armor torn asunder. Over half of her dorsal armament was rendered into slag, as were her shield emitters. Eight beams tore into the bridge, shattering the transparisteel viewport and the bulkheads around it and simply... erasing... the port half of the crew pit.

Sorely wounded and without her commander, the ship put up even less resistance to the second volley; three hundred missiles launched a minute after the first. One of the lesser Imperial ships sprayed fire into the missile's path, but the range and jamming defeated her efforts. Though the Star Destroyer was not destroyed outright, it was little more than an air-bleeding hulk, engines dead and shedding escape pods.

The third volley was not launched against _Premptory_. There was no need for it.


End file.
